A Sly Little Bird
by KatjaLaRoux
Summary: After her father's death, all she wanted was to be a small and insignificant detail. Nassau was meant to give her an escape, a new life, a little freedom. But some details are more important than others. / "How is it," he asked as he pulled off his hooded cloak, "that a sweet lass like you is such a crack shot?"
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

What I liked about Nassau was that it felt like everything was painted in broad brushstrokes. Most people didn't pay any attention to the little things. That's what made it so easy to hide in plain sight. Most people didn't look past the general vibrancy—or debauchery—of the city to see the details. Me? I was just a detail.

I arrived in Nassau two days before after my 18th birthday dressed as a widow—though the only death I was truly mourning was that of my father. The guise, I'd hoped, would lend me some safety on the long voyage from my home in Pennsylvania. A widow travelling alone was less conspicuous than a young woman travelling alone.

When my father passed, I had little reason left to turn down the marriage proposal of the planter from Virginia. I had no other family, and life was difficult for a young, unmarried woman in Philadelphia. Marriage was the most logical step for me. But I despised the planter from Virginia; his plantation, his wealth, his _slaves_ were of no appeal whatsoever.

Of course, my father's death also meant I had little reason left to _stay_ in British America. And the Caribbean seemed as good a destination as any. So I booked passage to Nassau and donned a black mourning dress.

I never thought I would end up playing the widow more than once.

Or that I would live so much in so little time.


	2. January 22, 1717

**January 22, 1717**

There had been a steady drizzle all day, but I still needed to deliver a crate of empty bottles to Sully in the market before the tavern, my tavern, got busy. I had seen a new ship come into the harbor earlier that morning, and I had a feeling I'd be seeing a few more patrons than a usual rainy afternoon. By the time I got back from Sully's, a few extra reales in my pocket, I was solidly drenched. I ducked into the back room that served as both office and bedroom and quickly swapped my wet clothes for dry pair of men's trousers and a loose shirt.

I took a moment to pull my hair from its customary knot, combed through it a few times, and pulled it back up. And after stuffing my feet back into my wet boots, I headed back out to the tavern.

My tavern.

Even after five months, I had a hard time believing that I owned the Old Avery. I often wondered what my father would say if he could see me now. I wondered if he would recognize me. My hair was the same carroty color my father always teased me for, but my skin was a shade darker and a bit more freckled from spending so much time outside. Working at a popular tavern had made my hands a little rougher and my language a little coarser, and I was both leaner and stronger from carrying crates of rum and barrels of ale. And while I had learned to square my shoulders and stand my ground, I was still shorter than average and young and female. Those were not easy things to overcome, even in—maybe especially in—a place like Nassau. That had been a hard lesson to learn, one that left me with a thin line of scar tissue just above my collarbone.

I was yanked from my thoughts by an unfamiliar voice, deep and not entirely friendly.

"Where's Thomas?"

I glanced up from the tankard I was cleaning at the speaker, at a face I'd never seen before. New faces were far from unusual, but most didn't bother asking about the former owner. In fact, it had been months since anyone had asked after Thomas at all. One quick glance at the man was enough to tell me how to answer. He was tanned, scarred, and sea-weary. Another pirate. Or, at least, far enough from a guard or nobleman or any other type who might actually care what happened.

"Dead." That was my simple reply. Matter of fact. No emotion. I didn't make eye contact or, for more than the first quick glance, look up at the man. Remaining aloof was usually my first line of defense.

"Dead?"

I could feel his eyes watching me, waiting for me to look at him. I didn't.

"Last I checked." I set down the tankard I'd been wiping down and picked up another.

"So who runs this place?" I imagined his eyes were narrowed at me to match the wariness in his voice.

"I do," I replied, keeping my tone level despite my growing impatience. If I stated it plainly and confidently, most people just let the subject drop there. This man, clearly, was not most people. He was persistent.

"And who are you?" He countered.

I finally looked up at him. If his eyes had been narrowed, they weren't anymore. In fact, his expression was rather blank, save a few faint lines around his sharp, blue eyes that gave away his suspicion.

I set both the tankard and rag down on the counter and lifted my chin slightly. "I'm his widow."

He didn't respond right away, instead taking the opportunity to study my face. I held his gaze calmly and waited for him to make up his mind about me. I knew I was about half Thomas's age, but men marrying younger women wasn't that uncommon. And in Nassau in particular, most people didn't care who I was beyond the papers that claimed Thomas had left the Old Avery to me. Only one person knew that paper was a forgery and the marriage a complete lie—and, as it was his idea in the first place, I knew he wouldn't say a word against my right to the tavern. I also knew that few would challenge the word of Captain Edward Thatch.

Finally, the man in front of me snorted.

"Right. Well then, I'm sorry for your loss," he offered. "Thomas was a decent fellow."

"No," I laughed mirthlessly, "he wasn't." I noticed another man step up to the bar. His was a face I'd seen before. Kidd. I nodded in acknowledgement and pulled out the bottle of rum I knew he'd be asking for.

"Are you calling me a liar?" I looked back at the man with blue eyes. He was smirking at me. Challenging me. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and poured Kidd a mug of rum while I answered.

"What you just said was a lie," I answered. "Whether or not that makes you a liar…" I ended the sentence with a shrug and passed Kidd his rum.

The man snorted again. "And how do I know anything you are saying is true?"

"Maybe nothing is true," I replied with a smirk of my own.

Kidd gave me an odd look. But, when the other man opened his mouth to say something else, Kidd interrupted.

"Let her be, Kenway. We've business to tend to."

I knew what that meant. Without waiting for either an order or a dismissal, I poured the man with blue eyes, Kenway, a mug of rum and walked to the other side of the bar to give them a bit of privacy.

When Thomas had first hired me on to serve and clean, I'd learned quickly that the Old Avery was a haven for pirates and smugglers and poachers and the like. Mostly, they did their business at the corner tables where they were less likely to be overheard. Only a handful were either arrogant enough or stupid enough to talk business out in the open. As far as I knew, Kidd was neither arrogant nor stupid, so I assumed his current business was either not particularly noteworthy or he was unconcerned about being overheard. Either way, I chose to keep my distance; my father had long ago taught me the value of confidences and professional courtesies.

After a few minutes, Kidd waved his empty mug in the air in request for another round.

As I refilled both Kidd's and Kenway's drinks, Kenway rested his elbows on the bar and leaned in my direction.

"So what's your story, wench? What brought you to Nassau?"

I gritted my teeth. I hated being called wench. More than anything. Most of the regulars had learned to not call me that. This Kenway fellow was new. He'd learn, too.

"My story," I said, as calmly as I could, "is that my name is not wench."

I walked away before he could respond, heading for an abandoned table littered with empty bottles and mugs. But I heard Kidd's laughter behind me. I would have liked to avoid that end of the bar altogether, to stay out of their business and away from Kenway's questions. Unfortunately, that's where my basin of water for cleaning dishes was.

"My apologies, gents," I gestured to the basin and rag as I walked back. "You may want to move your conversation elsewhere. I have to work here."

"'Salright," Kidd placed a few coins on the bar. "We're done anyway."

I nodded in response and pocketed the coin. Kidd winked at me before sauntering out. Kenway, however, was still there, watching me.

"Tell me, not-wench, how did Thomas die?"

I blinked several times at Kenway. I couldn't quite decide what was more perplexing: the fact that he had called me not-wench or the fact that he was _still_ asking about Thomas. No one had pestered me so much about the man before. As far as I could tell, the only reason anyone in Nassau even liked Thomas was because he served them booze and kept his mouth shut about who and what he saw in the tavern. I suddenly wondered if Thomas had some particular secret of Kenway's that he was concerned about. Just in case he was only looking for reassurance that the man was dead along with any secrets he knew, I decided to answer his question truthfully.

"He was killed while trying to rape a woman. Stabbed in the gut, shot in the head, dumped in the swamp."

It was Kenway's turn to blink at me, either caught off guard by the lack of emotion as I relayed what happened to my "husband" or by the nature of Thomas's death. After a moment, he chuckled and tapped the side of his empty mug. As soon as I refilled it, he downed it in one swallow, set the mug on the bar, and dropped some coins next to it. And with a sharp nod of thanks, he was gone.

I exhaled slowly, and, without the distraction of his questions, let my thoughts drift back to my father. While it's true he may not recognize me at first and I'm not so sure he would have willingly chosen a life of tending bar and trading barbs with pirates, I think, in a strange way, he would be proud that I found my way.


	3. January 30, 1717

**January 30, 1717**

The Old Avery was perched on a hill above the beach and built on stilts to prevent water damage from high tides and frequent storms. While the shadow underneath the building was used to store old barrels and empty crates, I turned the tavern's storage room into an office and bedroom for myself. The Old Avery wasn't just my tavern; it was my home. From the large front patio, there was a decent view of the harbor, and I spent most mornings sitting on the railing, legs dangling over the edge, watching the comings and goings below.

That particular morning, I drank a mug of strong tea and watched the _Adventure_ slowly make her way into the harbor. So I wasn't at all surprised to hear Ed's gruff greeting as he strolled in a few hours later.

"Mags!" I looked up from my sweeping.

"Hello, Ed. It's been a while."

I leaned the broom in a corner and pulled out a bottle of rum. Rather than pouring a shot for him, I just tossed him the bottle.

"Just got back this morning." He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spit it to the floor. "How's my little Magpie?"

I grinned at the nickname before replying, "I'm all right, Ed."

Ed and I had an odd relationship. Mostly, it was like a business partnership. But there were also strange, unspoken debts.

Ed didn't really do things out of the goodness of his heart—not if it didn't also benefit him in some way at least. He was just as greedy and ruthless as the rest of them. I never figured out why he chose to help me that night. Maybe he recognized me. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kill someone. Regardless of his motivation, he had come to my rescue and saved my life. But even if that made no sense, I did understand his motivation for helping me take over the Old Avery. I owed him—and if I was the one running the Old Avery, that meant Ed was always welcome and his secrets always kept. Any useful information I overheard went to him first. And drinks were always on me.

But there was something else there, too. Something just underneath the surface. I was always his first stop when he came into to town—and his visits weren't just for booze and rumors. He checked in on me. He told me stories. He brought me trinkets he had picked up—or stolen—while away. "Shiny things for my little Magpie," he'd say. It was almost _fatherly_. Of course, he would probably be the first to cut out my tongue if I ever suggested such a thing out loud.

Ed settled on a stool at the bar, and I leaned my elbows on the bar just next to him and waited for him to start telling me about his most recent adventures at sea. He didn't let me down, launching into a tale of how he singlehandedly sunk the fabled and indestructible _El Impoluto_. I knew it was an exaggeration if not a complete lie, but I wasn't about to contradict the legend of Ed Thatch.

When he finished his story, Ed scratched at his beard and asked, "Any excitement while I was gone?"

"Nothing much," I shrugged. "A few fights is all."

"Good, good." He drank deeply from the bottle of rum.

"There was something, though." I quickly surveyed the mostly empty room before continuing, "Charles Vane is in town."

Ed grunted. "What's that bastard want here?" I grinned to myself. I didn't like Vane either.

"I heard him and Rackham talking about some gold meant for Governor Torres. Apparently it's sitting at a fort, just waiting to be picked up."

"Is it now?" Ed scratched at his beard again. "Well, let's see if those gents share that information willingly tonight."

I pushed off the counter when I heard the front door bang open. And swore under my breath when I saw who was walking in. Rackham. Kidd. Kenway.

Rackham walked straight for me, grinning suggestively. I waved him off before he got close enough to try anything. He just laughed.

"Rum, woman."

I folded my arms across my chest and watched him turn a chair backwards at a table and straddle it. Kidd shook his head but said nothing and sat at the table. Kenway, however, saw me not following Rackham's order and stood watching with a faint smirk. Ed was also watching. And trying to hold back a laugh.

After a few seconds, Rackham realized that no one was talking, Kenway was still standing, and I hadn't brought his rum. He turned to look at me.

"Did you not hear me?"

I arched an eyebrow at him.

Ed guffawed loudly, and hit his fist against the bar a few times. Kidd was chuckling, too.

"Damnit, Jack." Ed coughed out as he ambled over to the table. "How many times have you been here?"

Kenway followed Ed and sat down while Rackham scowled at me.

"Oh, for the—" He shook his head and, through clenched teeth, asked, "_Can_ we get some rum over here?"

I grinned and nodded and brought them two bottles and a set of mugs.

"Lovely to see you too, Mister Rackham." I winked at him as I set the bottles down.

"Would've been better if you'd seen me in my bed this morning," he leered at me.

"In your dreams, Rackham," I laughed.

As I walked back to my abandoned broom and resumed sweeping, I heard him grumble, "Tell me again why we come here?"

"Because," Ed said, sounding more serious and more sober than usual, "she takes care of us."

"Maybe she takes care of _you_," Rackham scoffed.

I rolled my eyes and left the men to talk, instead turning my attention to the tavern's ledger and then to the steady stream of other patrons than began coming in for drinks as the sun went down. I lost track of who went where when Kidd approached me at the bar.

"Don't mind Jack," he said quietly, placing a few coins on the bar. "We do appreciate you minding our information."

I smiled at the man—well, boy really. Up close like this, I realized that he looked much closer to my age than Ed or Rackham or any of the others. His cheeks were smooth, so smooth I wondered if he even _could_ grow a beard.

"It's Kidd, isn't it?" I asked. "I don't know that we have ever been introduced."

"Aye," he nodded and returned my smile. "James Kidd."

"Mags."

"Pleasure," he nodded again before walking out, exchanging similar nods with Ed and Kenway. Rackham followed him out, a bit unsteady on his feet.

After dropping the coin into my safebox behind the bar, I went to pick up the mugs left by Kidd and Rackham. I was two steps back to the bar with the mugs when a group of men began shouting on the other side of the tavern. I turned towards the commotion just as one dumped the table over and lunged for the other.

"Oi!" I shouted and took a few steps in their direction. "Leave off, you maggots!"

Kenway stood and started to follow, but Ed grabbed his arm.

"Let her handle it," he growled.

Only one of the men had responded to my shout and taken a step back from the other two.

"Oh, rot," I muttered under my breath. Then, pulling my pistol from my hip, I fired a shot at the ceiling and leveled the gun at the grappling men. Startled by the gunshot, they both spun in my direction, drawing their own weapons. Most likely, they were expecting another assailant, not a short, red-haired woman pointing a pistol at them.

"I said leave off," I repeated.

The both men lifted their hands. I shook my head and lowered the pistol slightly when I recognized one.

"Take your rib-roastin' outside, Cuddy," I grumbled.

"S-sorry, Mags," Cuddy muttered. Then, with a quick glance at his friend he'd just been fighting, he righted the table and scampered outside.

"Well done, lass," Ed chuckled.

I grinned, knowing the weight of a compliment from Ed. Especially considering Ed was the one who all but trained me to scare my customers into acting the way I wanted them to act. My mental celebration was interrupted by Kenway.

"What if someone had been up there?"

Bewildered, I turned to Kenway. "Why would someone be on my roof?"

His lips twitched down but he didn't answer. I shook my head and tried to ignore his eyes on me as I returned the gun my hip holster and tucked the dark green sash back over it, keeping it mostly hidden.


	4. March 25, 1717

**_A/N: _**Thanks for all the favorites and follows! And to ObsessedwReading for cheering me on! I just thought I'd let y'all know that I'll do my best to keep up with daily updates but may miss a day or two with family obligations over the next few days. You know how it is... :)

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**March 25, 1717**

It was late. Or early. It was time to lock up, either way. I hadn't seen Ed or any of the others in a while. I wasn't even sure they were in Nassau. For as much as Ed looked in on me, he never bothered letting me know where he was headed or for how long. Taking off for weeks at a time without telling me a thing wasn't uncommon.

I fished the key from the chain around my neck and headed for the front door only to run into Kenway coming in the door.

"Bloody hell," he hissed as I bounced off of him.

"Well, hello to you, too." I brushed myself off. "I was just closing up."

"Have you seen Kidd?" He asked, his brows drawn together. He looked hurried, concerned.

I shook my head. "Not for a week, at least."

"Shit." He ran his hands through his already disheveled hair.

That's when I noticed the blood.

"Are you okay?"

He glanced down at his hand, the white edge of his coat was soaked. "Aye, I'm fine." He shook his head. "You see Kidd, tell him I need to see him."

"Sure. No problem." I nodded and, just as he was turning to leave, I blurted, "I have bandages, you know."

He paused and looked back at me. "It's not my blood."

With the bright moonlight shining through the open door, his face was mostly cast in shadow. But his teeth, impossibly white and straight, gleamed as he smiled at me. It was not a particularly friendly smile.

"Well," I muttered to myself as I locked the door behind him. "That was peculiar."

About an hour later, I had finished washing all the mugs and straightening the chairs and tables. I was just unlocking the door to my private room when I heard banging at the front door. With a sigh, I relocked my room and went to the door.

"What's the password?" I shouted. There wasn't one at all. But I didn't usually open the door this late for anyone but Ed, and his voice was one I'd recognize.

"What the—just open the door, damnit!"

Surprised at the urgency of the voice, I quickly unlocked the door, and Kenway nearly knocked me over as he barreled his way in, Ed slung over his shoulder like a sack of sugar. Kidd was following close behind. I closed and locked the door behind them and turned to see Kenway dropping Ed into a chair.

"You said you had bandages?" He looked at me expectantly. With a nod, I darted over to the bar and pulled out a kit of medical supplies I'd put together. As I carried it over, Kidd and Kenway started pulling Ed's vest and shirt off.

I set the small box of supplies on the table and pulled a clean rag off the top, passing it to Kidd. Kenway stepped aside, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded.

"The fool found himself on the wrong end of sword, that's what," Kenway spat back at me.

I looked back at Ed. There was a lot of blood. More than there should be. A flood of memories swept over me. Banging and shouting at my father's door, his friend, Rene, carrying in a man just like Kenway had carried Ed. My father calmly calling me in to help and silently working alongside him to stop the bleeding and clean the wound. It happened enough that when there was a knock at the door in the middle of the night, I knew to begin gathering supplies.

I watched Kidd trying to take care of Ed's wound, but I could tell a simple bandage wasn't going to be enough. There really was a lot of blood. And I couldn't lose Ed.

I shook off the memories and rummaged through the box for the needle and silk thread I knew was in there. Then I pushed Kidd aside and took over.

Two hours later, Ed was sleeping, breathing steadily, and the gash in his side had been cleaned and stitched up. Kidd and Kenway, both covered in blood, were slouched at the next table over, passing a bottle of rum back and forth. I was sitting at my own table, equally bloody, my head in my hands.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Kidd broke the silence. When I lifted my head and looked over at him, he nodded towards Ed. "The sewing," he clarified.

I shrugged.

"My father was a physician. I watched him do it a few times." I didn't say how many times. Or how many time I'd helped. Or how many times I'd watched a man succumb to his wounds, despite my and my father's efforts. I looked over at Ed and sighed, "And it's Ed."

"He means a lot to you," Kidd said. His tone hovered somewhere between question and observation.

"He's the closest thing to family I've got," I admitted slowly.

No one spoke for another few minutes until Kenway asked, "Why does he call you Magpie?"

I couldn't help but smile.

"The night we met, one of the first things he noticed was these." I ran a finger over the three silver hoops in my earlobe. Then wiggled my fingers to show the rings I wore, one on each finger. "And these. He asked me if I was a magpie that collected shiny things. It just sort of stuck."

Kidd chuckled, and Kenway and I both looked over at him. "I just realized," he said shaking his head. "That's where Mags comes from, innit?"

I just shrugged. "No one but Ed calls me Magpie."

Kidd chuckled again then stood and clapped a hand on Kenway's shoulder. "Let's go find Ben. See if he can round up a physician, just to make sure we've done enough."

I scowled at the name. Kidd cocked his head to one side.

"Don't like Ben?"

"I don't dislike Ben Hornigold. I just don't trust him," I replied. Kidd looked thoughtful for a moment, then slowly grinned.

"We'll find a physician somewhere else then."

I managed to doze off at the table next to Ed, but mostly I spent the next few hours worrying about what would happen if I'd missed something in my stitching or if he came down with an infection.

Kidd and Kenway returned with an older fellow with spectacles. While Kenway joined the older man at Ed's side, Kidd sat at the table with me and apologized for taking so long to find a physician willing to come to a tavern.

After a few minutes of examining Ed, the older man walked over to the table.

"You did a fine job with the stitches, lass," he said, smiling at me. "So long as it doesn't get infected, I think he'll be just fine."

I exhaled slowly, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. "What do I owe you, sir?" I stood and started towards the bar where I kept my coin, but the physician stopped me.

"I did nothing but look at the man," he said with a dry chuckle.

I turned to the older man and, leaning up on my tiptoes, brushed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

The old man blushed furiously and nodded. "Of course, lass. Of course. I'll check back again in a day, just to be sure."

I walked the three men to the door and said farewell to both Kidd and the physician. When Kenway nodded his farewell, I stopped him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at my hand then at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," I said softly. "And thank you for bringing him here."

He nodded, pulled his hood low over his eyes, and ducked into the dark street.


	5. June 4, 1717

**June 4, 1717**

I had arrived in Nassau in the fall, just at the end of hurricane season. Now, nine months later, summer had kicked in, and it was sweltering. I had lived other places that got hot in the summer. And other places that were humid. But the combination in Nassau was hellish.

I wandered down to the beach, hoping the proximity to the water would help. But sitting in the sand, right at the edge of the water, didn't seem to change a thing. My feet were bare, my trousers were rolled up to my knees, and the green scarf I usually had tied at my hips was holding my hair off of my neck.

A few weeks before, I had hired another girl to help out at the tavern. Another redhead like me. Anne was louder than me, prettier than me, and more brazen than me. But she was sharp. And I trusted her enough to manage the tavern alone from time to time. As long as Jack Rackham wasn't around, at least. Putting her in charge was what gave me the time to sit at the beach and watch the horizon.

"That you, Mags?"

I glanced up to see Kidd smiling down at me.

"Y'alright?" He asked, sitting in the sand next to me. "I'm not used to seeing you out here."

"It's fucking hot," I grumbled.

"Aye," Kidd laughed. "That it is."

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching a ship coming in on the horizon.

"Well, I'll be—" Kidd said suddenly. "That's the bloody Jackdaw."

"Jackdaw? That's Kenway's ship, isn't it?"

"Aye," Kidd nodded. "Didn't think he'd be back so soon."

"Hornigold's in town, too. Day before yesterday," I said.

"And Vane and Thatch both," Kidd nodded thoughtfully before turning to me. "Have you heard anything recently?"

"Nothing I haven't already told you, I don't think."

I tilted my head to the side as I thought back. I heard a lot in the tavern. And passed some on to Ed, but recently, I'd been passing more on to Kidd. He seemed both more interested and more proactive about some of it. I'd also realized that he knew more about what was going on than any of the others, save maybe Hornigold. I'd also realized that there was more than just average piracy and politics. Just like back in Pennsylvania. And Kidd was wrapped up in it. Just like my father had been.

"No, wait," I said, remembering something I'd heard just the night before. "I heard someone talking about the Templars again."

"Aye?" His tone was casual, but the way his eyes cut to me gave away his interest.

"Someone's in town. Just got here. Arrived yesterday or the day before." I shrugged lightly. "That's all I heard though."

"Yesterday or the day before," Kidd repeated, looking back out at the Jackdaw. "What do you know about the Templars, Mags?"

"Not much." I leaned back on my elbows and considered my answer. I really didn't know much, but I probably knew more than I should, both from overhearing things here in Nassau and from my father and his friends back in Pennsylvania. "Some secret organization that hunts for treasures or some such nonsense."

"You think they're treasure hunters?"

"Not exactly, no." I grinned and added, "Regular treasure hunters wouldn't need a secret order now, would they?"

Kidd chuckled, "No, I would say not."

As silence stretched between us, I glanced at Kidd from the corner of my eye. He had sounded like he was fishing for something, like he was trying to figure out what I knew and how I knew it. I thought about the fact that he'd only ever talked about the Templars. And then I remember the night I met Kenway, I'd said something similar to the saying my father's friend, Rene, always said. And Kidd had given me a strange look, like he was surprised to hear those words come from me. Rene was not a Templar.

"You're part of all that, aren't you?" I asked. I noticed a muscle twitch in Kidd's jaw and quickly clarified. "Not the Templars, but the other group. The Brotherhood?"

Kidd was silent for a long moment, unmoving. Then he turned to me and asked, "What's your real name, Mags?" I recognized the sudden subject change for what it was.

"What's yours?" I countered, raising my eyebrows.

"James."

"Mags," I replied with a wry grin.

"Fair enough," Kidd chuckled, shaking his head. "C'mon. Let's go greet the Jackdaw."

I frowned. Despite his help with Ed a few months back, Kenway wasn't my favorite person. I'd rather have him in my tavern over Rackham or Charles Vane. But beyond that one night, crisis forcing him to be civil, he been little more than arrogant and antagonistic towards me.

"I'll let you do that. I'm going back to the Old Avery."

"Suit yourself," Kidd shrugged and stood, sauntering off down the beach. I watched him carefully as he walked, watched the slight sway to his hips, the narrow shoulders. James Kidd was no boy. I don't quite remember when I'd figured it out, but once I had, it was completely obvious. But I wouldn't be the one to ruin his cover. Doing what he was doing, maintaining the disguise as he was, and being a decent person to boot, I respected him too much for that.

It was nearly a family reunion that night at the tavern. Everyone was there. Anne was sitting in Rackham's lap, giggling like a school girl. Vane, Hornigold, Kidd, and Kenway each had their own bottles. I wasn't sure exactly what they were celebrating, but the mood was contagious. Anne had even convinced me to sit and have a drink with them, which was something I didn't do often. But it was late, and the tavern was nearly empty—and Anne was a bad influence.

So I sat with them for a bit, laughing and swapping stories. But as soon as I'd finished my drink, I went back to working. I was clearing off a nearby table, not part of the conversation but close enough to hear them.

"I'd like to go with you one day, Jack. I could be useful, you know," Anne purred.

"Aye," Rackham said, leaning his face into her cleavage. "You would at that."

"Kidd's been puttin' ideas in your head, hasn't he?" Vane sneered. "Women don't belong on a ship."

"That's a myth, Vane, and you know it," Rackham argued.

"And what about you, Mags?" Kenway said suddenly, grabbing my wrist as I passed. "Do you want to be useful on a pirate ship one day, too?"

"Ah, don't bother with her, Kenway. Cold as ice, that one is." Vane laughed.

I shot Vane a scowl and pulled my arm back from Kenway's grasp.

"I'm useful enough here, thanks." I turned to walk away, but Kenway grabbed my arm again, harder this time.

"Aw, c'mon, lass."

"Edward…" Anne's voice had a hint of warning, but Rackham and Vane were both laughing.

I glared at him and started to tug my arm away again, but he yanked me into his lap. I could smell the rum on his breath.

"I like redheads, you know."

"I'm not a redhead," I said steadily, trying to maintain a bit of my dignity. "I'm a woman."

He looked up at me and smirked, reaching up and tugging lightly on a strand of hair that had come loose. "I can't call you a redhead, even though you are one." He moved his hand from my hair to my ear, running a finger over the three silver hoops there. "I can't call you magpie, even though you are one." I should have pushed his hand away and stood up. But the rum was slowing down my thoughts just a little too much, and I found myself mesmerized by the feel of Kenway's callused finger tracing my jawline from my ear to my chin. As he ran his finger next over my bottom lip, he said, "And I can't call you wench because you aren't one." He dropped his hand suddenly and let it rest lightly on my knee. "So what do I call you?"

I stared at him unmoving for a moment, scrambling to pull my thoughts back together after his finger left my skin. And, again, the rum seemed to be making my decisions for me. I placed one hand on the side of his neck, my fingers just at the edge of his hairline. I could feel his heart beating under my palm, speeding up as I slowly leaned my head toward him, my cheek just brushing his neatly trimmed beard.

"You, Captain Kenway," I whispered before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. "Can call me Mags."

My boldness had caught him by surprise, and he didn't stop me as I slid from his lap and strolled away. I ignored the wolf whistle from Anne and Rackham's rumbling chuckle.

"For fuck's sake, woman!" Vane shouted after me. "If I'd known all I had to do was play with your bloody hair, I would have done that ages ago."

Kenway let out a bark of laughter. "Don't worry Charles, I didn't get anything out of that except a need for a cold bath."

I was glad my back was still to them as I could feel my face burning. I couldn't believe I'd done that. Anne was definitely a bad influence. And I definitely needed to avoid drinking rum when Kenway was around.


	6. June 12, 1717 (pt i)

**June 12, 1717**

"Take a walk with me, Mags."

I looked over at bar at Kenway. As always, he was wearing his hooded coat, the blue and white one, and I could count at least two swords and two pistols. I couldn't figure out how he handled it all in the heat. But his hood was down, and he was smiling, eyes dancing mischievously.

He'd been relentless all week. Maybe it was some perceived competition with Vane or Rackham, a desire to prove a point that he could break through whatever defenses they had failed to. Or maybe it was just the idea that I was a challenge. Getting to me was another impossible mission for him. Kenway did seem to aim for accomplishing the impossible. I'd heard the stories of his exploits. Breaking into heavily guarded forts to get a individual chests. Searching miles of beaches and multiple sandbars for buried treasures no one else even believed in. Attacking Spanish vessels with three times the manpower and firepower as his Jackdaw. And finding success in them all.

"No, Kenway." I continued wiping down the bar, keeping my eyes down.

"Why not?"

"Because I have work to do."

"You can do it in the morning."

"Or I can do it tonight."

"Oh c'mon, lass. It's just a walk. Half an hour. The moon is out."

I rolled my eyes. He'd be standing there for longer than half an hour, pestering me with questions and pleas, like he had every evening for the last week. Going for a walk was a new request though. I had assumed he was just trying to get me in bed with him. I didn't consider myself a prude. Neither religion nor reputation mattered much to me in Nassau. I did, however, know enough to take care in choosing who I brought to my bed—yet another of my father's strangely progressive yet practical lessons. I also knew that men like Jack Rackham and Charles Vane were not worth my time. I wasn't sure just yet about Kenway, but his invitation for a walk was definitely more innocent sounding than joining him for a drink or coming to see his ship, both of which he had tried already.

"Fine," I sighed. "I need to check in with Sully in the market anyway."

His face brightened when he smiled. For just a moment, it looked less like he had won some challenge and more like a genuine smile. But it quickly morphed into a smirk as he held out his arm. I shook my head and walked past him towards the door.

He fell into step beside me as we made our way up the hill and through town towards the market. That twenty minute walk was the first time I had really had a conversation with the man that wasn't fueled with sarcasm or innuendo or bravado. When he wasn't trying so hard, he was decent company.

"You're from Wales originally, aren't you?" I asked as we turned the last corner to the market.

"Aye. Did Thatch tell you that?"

"No," I laughed. "It's your accent."

"Most people would just say I'm English."

"I know better than to call a Welshman an Englishman. That would be an insult of the worst kind."

He laughed then. I glanced up at his profile and caught a glimpse of a smile, another one that looked more genuine than his usual smirk. In truth, he was an attractive man. Fair hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw. I didn't mind the scars on his face or the lump on the bridge of his nose where it had been set poorly after a break. When he was angry, he could look downright frightening. But when he was smiling like that, he seemed kinder and less intimidating.

"Your accent is strange," he commented after a moment.

"Maybe mine is completely normal and yours is strange," I countered. He looked down at me, and I flashed him a grin. He rolled his eyes. "I was born in Boston," I explained. "But we moved around a lot. We were in Philadelphia before I came here."

"You grew up there? British America?"

I nodded slowly, not really interested in talking about my past. He may or may not have noticed, but he shifted the conversation just slightly.

"How did you get here?"

"On a ship. Like everyone else," I answered dryly.

"Do you take anything seriously, lass?" He asked, his voice equal parts annoyance and amusement.

"I do," I laughed. "Booze in particular. There's Sully." I nodded to the man who had promised me a case of a particular ale from England nearly a month before.

As I was checking in on my order, Kenway stood a few feet away, watching the crowd in the market. From the corner of my eye, I saw him tense. His back straightened, his shoulders went rigid. He took a step backwards, almost into the shadow of Sully's stack of crates. I was just giving Sully my farewell, when Kenway put a heavy hand on my shoulder. When I looked up at him, his eyebrows were knotted together, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"There's someone I need to see. I'll be back. Do not leave the market."

"What?" I asked him, confused both by the sudden change in his demeanor and his demand.

"Just stay here." He pulled his hood up, tugging it low over his eyes. And then he was gone.

I thought I'd seen him head directly across the market, but I couldn't find him in the crowd. And it wasn't much of a crowd. I saw something white flash in the corner of my eye, a movement on the rooftops across the way. But when I turned to look in that direction, nothing was there. And surely Kenway wasn't climbing around on rooftops.

I sighed and made my way to the booth next to Sully's. I could at least do some shopping while I waited for him to return. After browsing silks and leathers, pistols and daggers, spices and seeds, I noticed the crowd had thinned considerably. Sully had closed up shop and left, so had quite a few other merchants.

Frustrated and annoyed at being left behind, I turned to head home alone. But just as I did, I heard the distinct sound of an alarm bell from one of the estates further up the hill. And I knew, I just _knew_ that it was Kenway.

I sprinted up the hill towards the bell and, sure enough, there was Kenway, just a foot from the outer wall of the estate. His white hood was pulled low over his face, and his feet were planted in a defensive stance. In front of him was one of the guards, a big, beefy man with an axe. The guard had just knocked one of Kenway's swords from his hand. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I pulled my pistol from its holster, took aim, and fired a shot at the guard. He froze. Then crumpled to the ground.


	7. June 12, 1717 (pt ii)

**June 12, 1717**

Watching the guard in front of Kenway fall, I had a momentary thrill of hitting my target, but it was short lived.

Kenway spun towards me at the sound of the shot, and the next thing I knew, he had my arm in an iron grip and was running, dragging me alongside him, away from the estate and through the dark side streets of Nassau. I quickly was lost, completely turned around in my own city. He finally stopped, pulling me into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and slamming me up against the stone wall at the end. One hand was still gripping my arm, pushing it against the wall, the other was against the wall next to my head. His body was pressed into me, pinning me in place, his face mere inches from mine.

I couldn't breathe, whether from running or the weight of him against me or the fear that had exploded in my chest. Being pushed against a wall by a man in a dark alley was the last place I expected to be ever again. And there was no way Ed or anyone else would be coming to my rescue this time.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled at me.

"I…t-the alarm. I heard the…I-I thought you..." All I could do was splutter at him.

"I told you to stay put."

I tried to shrink away from him, but between the wall and his body, I couldn't move at all. Squeezing my eyes shut, I stammered, "I'm s-sorry. P-lease…please let g-go of me."

I could feel him glaring at me, his breath coming in hot bursts against my face. I whispered, "please," one more time before he pushed off the wall. But he didn't let go of my arm. Instead, he dragged me back out of the alley and down the hill to the Old Avery.

I said nothing. I ignored the tears burning paths down my cheeks. And I did my best to keep up with his pace to prevent angering him any further.

For the first time in months, I was truly frightened.

He slammed the door of the tavern shut and shoved me away from him. Ed and Kidd were there, engrossed in a dice game, and I recognized Anne's giggle coming from the other side of the room. The moment Kenway let go of me, I lifted my chin, walked as steadily as I could to the bar, and pretended to work, straightening mugs on the shelf that were in no need of straightening. I didn't think I'd fooled anyone into thinking I was fine, but I didn't know what else to do. I was not about to break down in front of everyone.

"What the devil happened?" Kidd asked.

"LeFebvre," Kenway said, his voice still clearly angry.

"You found him?" Kidd sounded pleased. I started wiping down the already clean bar with a rag.

"Aye, he's dead. I ran into a spot of trouble with the guards though."

"And you took _Mags_ with you?" At that, I looked up. I couldn't tell if Ed was angry or amused. He was watching me though, not looking at Kenway.

Who snorted.

"No. That insufferable chit followed me. She shot a guard." Then louder, clearly so I could hear him, he added, "She could have shot me."

I dropped my cleaning rag and gaped at him. _That_ was why he was angry?

"I didn't," I said, then standing a little straighter and speaking a little louder, I added, "I wouldn't have shot you."

"You got lucky," he growled. Involuntarily, I flinched at the tone of his voice. But I still answered him.

"You had your back to a wall and your sword was on the ground. And I _wouldn't_ have hit you."

"I didn't need your fucking help," he shouted, taking two steps towards me. "Your shot could have attracted more guards. It was reckless. _Foolish _girl. You shouldn't have even _been_ there."

I tried to hold his gaze, tried to stare him down. But I knew he was right. Firing my pistol could have brought more guards. There, in the tavern, after the fact, I knew he was right. But in that moment, back at the estate, all I had known was that a guard with an axe was bearing down on him. I closed my eyes and slumped back onto one of the barrels behind the bar in defeat.

I could hear their voices still, but I only caught bits and pieces, my own mind having gone numb.

"…had the information in a chest…"

"…pass on the news…"

"…could have been a disaster…"

"…doesn't know what you're capable of…"

"…be fine. It's her first kill…"

"…far from her first. But she's not usually…"

"…you don't mean…"

"…only like this one other…"

Their voices got quieter for a few minutes. I knew they were talking about me. At first, I couldn't bring myself to care, but the longer I sat there with them talking in hushed tones, the angrier I got. I hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. I thought I was helping Kenway. I thought he was in trouble. Shooting the guard was the only thing I could do. I trusted my aim. I knew Kenway was at no risk from me. His reaction was completely uncalled for.

I stood up abruptly and took three steps towards the table.

"Get out." Despite the emotional whirlwind going on inside me in that moment, I sounded surprisingly composed.

The three men stopped and looked at me, surprise clear on each of their faces.

"Get out of my tavern," I repeated.

"C'mon, Mags…" Ed started. I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head.

Kidd nodded and stood. Kenway hadn't budged. Ed shifted in his seat and scratched at his beard but didn't actually stand. I could tell he was going to try to reason with me.

"Mags…" Ed started again, raising a hand.

Taking another step towards them, I said again, "Out. Now. All of you." To Ed, I said, "You can come back in the morning if you want to talk to me." Then I turned to Kenway, narrowing my eyes at him. "You, however, are no longer welcome here."

Ed dropped his hand and shook his head. Kidd met my eyes for a moment and bowed his head in my direction. Kenway's face didn't change at all. Like he was made of stone. I waited, arms folded across my chest, for the three men to leave. I sought Anne out and gave her a quick wave, then opened the door to my room. When I locked the door behind me, my hands started to shake.

* * *

**_A/N: _**If anyone out there is anal about canon: Lefebvre is a French Marxist philosopher who is completely unrelated to the game or game lore. It was just a name that popped in my head when I was looking for one to use in this depiction of a totally random assassination contract. In fact, I think Lefebvre would probably be a friend of the Assassins. The point is: I know it's not canon; please don't be mad.

Also...Holy Positive Feedback, Batman! Between reviews and follows and favorites, checking my email was the most exciting part of my day yesterday. Thanks to ferkinderkin, ObsessedwReading, FALLING-ANGEL24, Amy122 (and a shout out to Melody!), jozze, and Life Is Like An Hourlass. I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the story. Hopefully, I can keep meeting your standards. :)


	8. August 6, 1717

**August 6, 1717**

"Kenway and Thatch are back from Kingston."

I glanced over at Kidd but said nothing. We were sitting on the railing of the Old Avery's patio, looking over the bustling docks below us. I had spotted the Jackdaw sailing into the harbor earlier that morning. Kenway had left a week or so after that night I'd banned him from the tavern. He had stayed away. Fortunately, so did Vane and Hornigold. A happy side effect, I suppose. Kidd still came by. And of course Rackham came around whenever Anne was there. But I hadn't seen Kenway in nearly two months.

"Think you'll let Kenway come back after all this time?"

I frowned. "I see no reason to. There are plenty of places to drink and do business in Nassau."

"What happened that night?" Kidd asked carefully. "I know you shot a guard, but what really happened?"

I hadn't told anyone. Not even Ed. And it sounded as though Kenway had only told part of the story. Aside from moving some of their conversations to other locales in the city, things had mostly carried on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. As far as I could tell, none of the others even knew I'd forbidden Kenway from coming to the Old Avery.

I took a deep breath. Then told Kidd the story. When I got to the alley, to describing Kenway's angry reaction, I could feel myself tensing up. Kidd shook his head and frowned.

After a few minutes of silence, I asked, "Did Ed tell you how we met?"

Kidd arched an eyebrow. "Not really, no. Just that you had been working at the Old Avery as a serving girl, and he helped you take over when Thomas died."

I nodded. The truth without telling the whole truth.

"Ed…" I started then shook my head and started again. "Thomas was a loathsome maggot and a drunkard. One night, he got tired of me turning him down. I guess he decided I…well, it doesn't matter. He dragged me into an alley, a few buildings up." I paused. I hadn't told this story to anyone. Kidd was watching with sympathy in his eyes. I had a feeling he knew exactly what would come next in my story. "The _Adventure_ had just docked, and Ed was on his way to the tavern. He heard me, I guess. And shouted. Thomas was distracted, and I…grabbed the knife Thomas had…" I reached up to my neck, rubbing absently at the jagged scar there. "I stabbed him. And then Ed shot him. And he helped me get papers stating I was Thomas's wife and rightful owner of the Old Avery." I finished with a small shrug.

Kidd had turned to look out across the docks. "So the alley, the way Kenway grabbed you…"

"It felt familiar," I finished his thought quietly.

"Kenway's a smug bastard, greedy and selfish most of the time." He shook his head again and looked back at me. "But he's got a good heart. He wouldn't have hurt you."

I looked away. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I trusted Kidd's judgment, but the thought of being in the same room with him still made my skin crawl. I couldn't simply forget what had happened. At least, not just because Kidd told me Kenway had a good heart.

After a brief moment of silence, Kidd added, "My real name is Mary, by the way. But you knew already, didn't you?"

I just smiled. And Kidd chuckled. "No one else knows. Except Kenway."

I let that added bit of information sink in. It settled heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I watched a young boy pickpocket a recently arrived merchant down below us while I considered Kidd's words. Considered the weight of Kidd's vouching for Kenway. Considered Kidd's trust in him.

Trust was a tricky thing.

I dropped my gaze to my hands, picking at a hangnail on my thumb.

"There is an Assassin," I started slowly, "who lives in the British colonies, in America, named Rene Debuchy." I didn't look up from my hands, but I could feel Kidd attention snap to me, a sudden tension crackling. I ignored it as memories of Rene and my father bubbled up. "I can't tell you how many times I watched my father stitch Rene and his friends up in the middle of the night. Or how many times I overheard Rene lecturing my father about needing to take better care of me, that he couldn't keep…" I shook my head and sat up a little straighter, turning to face Kidd. He was watching me, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"I don't know much about the Brotherhood," I said. "But I know that my father trusted Rene, that I trust Rene. I don't know where he is now, but he's the only one I told when I decided to leave Philadelphia."

My eyes went wide when Kidd started laughing.

"You're just full of surprises, ain't you, Mags?" He grinned. "Kenway told me you shot that guard through the throat. A clean shot. From the other side of the street."

I looked down, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed by the praise. "Rene bought me a pistol for my seventh birthday," I explained quietly. "He thought I needed to be able to protect myself." Every time he was in town, Rene would spend hours with me in the woods, making me practice.

Kidd sobered quickly. "If you're father was openly helping Assassins, aye. Most Templars wouldn't care who you were—just that you were in their way."

A heavy silence fell between us. My mind lingered on Rene and my father. Kidd was silently studying docks below us. Somewhere, not far away, the merchant realized his money was gone. I shook my head as he started cursing in Spanish. It was too late now. That boy was long gone. When the merchant's shouts faded, Kidd turned to me again.

"You came here when your father died? How…how did he die?"

"A fire," I sighed. "He had a habit of falling asleep at his desk, with candles burning."

"You weren't there?" He frowned.

"I…was at the wharf. I used to go down there and watch the ships…" I let my voice drop off, heavy with guilt.

"So you've always done this?" Kidd nodded in the direction of the harbor with a crooked grin.

"I suppose so," I laughed softly, grateful for the shift in subject. I had spent plenty of nights on my trip to Nassau lying awake and wondering what would have happened if I hadn't gone out that evening, if I had been home with him. I realized then that it had been nearly a year since those questions were last churning in my mind.

"My real name is Cecily," I said finally. "No one in Nassau knows. Not even Ed." I slipped off the railing, but Kidd stopped me before I started walking away.

"If you ever want to get a message to your friend, Rene…I can help."

I blinked at Kidd. "Are you…" And before I could say the words out loud, I found my answer in the sly grin that crept across his face. I nodded slowly. "Right."


	9. August 9, 1717

**August 9, 1717**

"Kidd!"

I stumbled gracelessly down the path toward the part of the beach Kidd was often at in the afternoons, but instead of Kidd, I found Kenway. He was lounging in Kidd's hammock, arms behind his head, wearing nothing but a pair of light trousers rolled to the knees.

He turned his head in my direction, clearly annoyed at my interruption of his nap.

"Have you seen Kidd?" I asked, nearly breathless from my dash to the beach.

"Can't say that I have." He turned his head back and closed his eyes again.

"Do you know where he is? I need to tell him something."

"Can't say that I do," he said, not opening his eyes.

I swore under my breath. "Please, Kenway. I know you don't like me, but this is important. _Really_ important."

He turned his face in my direction again, studying me. I hoped my disheveled state emphasized the importance. Half of my hair had come loose from its bun as I ran and was now hanging down in my face. I was flushed and still breathing heavier than normal from my sprint to the beach.

"Fine," he said finally. "What is it? I'll pass the message on when I see him."

I shook my head. "I need to find him."

"Bloody hell, Mags," he grumbled, swinging his legs down and standing from the hammock. "Just tell me what's going on."

"I-I can't tell you." I took a half step away from him.

He rolled his eyes and moved to get back in the hammock. I was running out of time. Kidd trusted Kenway. He'd told me so. I trusted Kidd. This had to work.

"One of his friends is in trouble," I blurted.

He turned back to me, eyebrow raised. "His friends are my friends."

I shook my head. "His _other_ friends."

Something flashed in his eyes before he replied calmly, "His other friends are my friends."

Oh. I blinked at him. I hadn't realized. But suddenly a lot of things about Kenway, and Kidd's trust in him, made a lot more sense.

"Tell me what's going on, Mags," he pressed.

"Right." I said quickly, snapping back to the situation. "Right."

As I started telling him what I'd overheard in the tavern, he reached down to the waist of his trousers. My eyes involuntarily followed the movement of his hands, taking in tattoos, scars, and lines of hard muscle. The moment I realized he was unbuttoning his trousers, my eyes flicked back to his face. Only to find him smirking at me. I turned my face away, ignoring the warmth in my cheeks and focusing my eyes on a dark cloud on the horizon, and kept talking. I heard his trousers hit the sand and, not a moment later, the rattle of a buckle.

"Did he say where he was headed?"

I looked back when he asked the question. He was fastening the buckles on his hooded coat.

"He's at the tavern," I replied.

Kenway scoffed, "You've been gone how long? What makes you think he's still there?"

"Oh," I looked down at my hands, suddenly unsure of my actions. Kenway had called me a foolish girl the last time I had tried to help. He probably wouldn't approve this time either. I didn't want to make him angry again. "I may have…slipped something in his drink. He's…sleeping."

He let out a bark of laughter. My eyes snapped to his and widened at the grin he was giving me.

"Clever, clever lass," he said, still chuckling. In a flash, he stepped towards me, grabbed my shoulders roughly, and kissed the top of my head. Then he pulled his hood up and took off running. I watched dumbfounded as he effortlessly slid under one fence then leapt over another as he sprinted his way up the hill. It took me a moment to recover from my shock at his reaction and take off after him. I was fast, but he was much faster.

By the time I got to the Old Avery, Kenway had woken the man up and was towering over him, a blade to his throat. Groggily, the man stammered through answers to Kenway's questions. The other patrons in the tavern had either scurried out or were too drunk to be aware of what was going on.

Without looking in my direction, Kenway said, "Mags, go outside." When I didn't move right away, he repeated, "Go. Outside."

I obeyed, and scarcely a minute later, Kenway came through the door, the man's limp body draped over his shoulder. He nodded in my direction and turned toward the swamp. Just like Ed had with Thomas's body.

"Wait," I called to him. He paused, turning slightly to look at me. "I…I have a sugar sack, underneath the tavern." I hesitated for a heartbeat then led him down the steps and underneath the tavern where I stored empty barrels and crates. I watched him shove the body roughly into the large sack. Just as he was tying it up, I grabbed two bricks that were sitting next to a stack of crates. "Here," I held them out to him. "Put these in there. He'll sink faster."

Kenway's lips twitched. "Bring them," he replied, lifting the now-full sack over his shoulder and walking toward the swamp.

I followed a few steps behind, the bricks in hand. When we reached the edge of the swamp, I untied the sack and shoved the bricks in, then made sure the sack was tied up tightly. Kenway tossed it into the swamp, and I watched it slip beneath the muddy water before looking up at him.

"Rum?" I offered, trying to smile. I wasn't bothered at all with what he'd done, what I'd just helped him do, but I was suddenly uncomfortable with the man standing in next of me. Looking at him now, all I could think of was the feel of his hands on me in the dark alley, the bite of his words in my ear, the way his anger had radiated off of him as he held me against that wall.

He shook his head slightly. "I need to take care of this. If you see Kidd, tell him."

And he was gone again, scaling the back wall of a nearby house and onto the roof. I shook my head as realization struck me. He _was_ jumping around on rooftops. I might need to stop shooting the ceiling of the tavern to break up fights.

That night, there was a buzz in the tavern, whispers of guards being killed and slaves being freed. I listened to the whispers and tried not to think too much about it.

I was carrying a crate of empty bottles down the steps when I noticed a dark figure at the edge of tavern's shadow. I recognized the silhouette of Kenway's hooded coat and felt myself tense. But I forced myself to finish what I was doing and setting the crate in the sand next to the others before looking in his direction.

"I haven't seen Kidd," I said quietly.

"I have," he answered. He took a step towards me into a patch of light from a nearby lantern then stopped. I had to make a conscious effort to not step backwards. He was only a couple of feet away, the width of a door maybe.

"You're frightened of me," he observed. His voice was level, emotionless, but there was the slightest downturn to his lips. Like he was disappointed.

"No," I lied.

His frown deepened for a brief moment then disappeared completely. "You're a bad liar."

"I am," I admitted. Both to being afraid and to being a bad liar. He could choose whichever he wanted.

"Thank you for your help today," he said levelly. Then he stepped back into the shadow and vanished.

* * *

_**A/N:**_For any canon junkies reading-that was a bastardization of the beginning of the Maroon Assassin mission in Kingston.

And, as always, thanks for all the reviews! :)


	10. August 11, 1717

**August 11, 1717**

"How 'bout you try my lap, this time, Mags?"

I laughed as I set down a new bottle of rum at the table. "I don't need to try it, Rackham. I heard all about your lap from the other girls."

Ed guffawed and nearly fell out of his chair. Even Hornigold and Vane were laughing rather heartily. Whatever they'd been up to this week, it had gone well. Spirits were high, and the celebration was in full swing. Neither Kidd nor Kenway were there. I hadn't seen either in a few days. But if everyone else was in town and celebrating at my tavern, they should be here at any moment.

As I worked the room, picking up discarded mugs and refilling others, my eyes kept drifting to the door. Every time I heard it swing open, I looked up, anxiety prickling at the back of my neck. Rackham's jokes had reached the point of being utterly crass by the time Kidd walked through the door. Behind him, Kenway hesitated, his eyes scanning the room, stopping only when they settled on me. I froze when I saw him, but then I realized he was waiting just outside the doorway and looking right at me. Like he was asking permission to come in. Bemused, I nodded. He ducked his head in thanks and made his way to the table of pirates.

Aside from that interaction, Kenway didn't acknowledge me. But I heard his voice over all the others. Even though he wasn't talking any louder, it stood out. It got under my skin. It kept me off balance. I tripped over an uneven board in the floor and nearly lost two tankards of ale. A few minutes after that, I dropped a bottle of rum. Then cut myself while picking up the shattered pieces. By the time most of the night's patrons had trickled out, my head was pounding. Anne took pity on me and sat me down at a table with my own drink, taking over the rest of the tavern on her own. It was mostly our friends anyway, the Flying Gang, as we'd taken to calling them.

I kept to my corner, drank my ale, and watched the room with disinterest. I couldn't quite figure why I was feeling so out of sorts. Maybe it was Kenway, but nothing about this situation, the entire group celebrating on the other side of the room, should be of concern. No one but Anne even realized I was no longer serving them. No one seemed to be aware I was sitting and drinking but not sitting and drinking with them. No one was even looking my way. I was just another detail in the room, easily overlooked.

I had finished my ale and was picking at the bandage I'd sloppily wrapped around my hand when Kidd strolled up.

"I hear we owe you some thanks."

I gave him a small smile and shook my head. "I didn't do anything other than panic and look for you."

"And poisoned a man and helped dispose of his body and got the information we needed to save quite a few lives," Kidd gave me a crooked grin.

"I'm glad to have helped then," I sighed and looked back down at my hands.

"Who's responsible for that mess?"

I looked up at him and saw him gesture at my hand. I rolled my eyes. "I am."

He chuckled and pulled a chair up next to me, taking my hand. Watching his slender fingers unwrap and rewrap the bandage, it was easy to remember that Kidd was a woman. After tying a snug knot in the bandage and returning my hand to me, he tilted his head.

"Y'alright?"

I looked up, meeting Kidd's eyes. I nodded.

"I take it you won't be joining us though?"

I glanced over at the table and shook my head. "I have had enough of Rackham tonight."

"It's Jack who's keeping you away, is it?" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled wryly.

"Mostly," I said. It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth. Kidd knew. He just nodded and stood up, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. I watched him saunter back over to the group and caught Kenway watching me. I looked away quickly, suddenly realizing part of the problem. I was embarrassed that I was afraid of him. I was embarrassed to admit it to myself and even more embarrassed at having admitted it to him. And I was confused as to why I even cared what he thought of me. With a sigh, I picked up my empty tankard and began collecting other empty mugs from the nearby tables.

I was behind the bar, awkwardly trying to wipe down mugs and tankards with my left hand to keep my bandaged hand dry, when Kenway appeared. Startled, I blinked up at him. He set three empty mugs on the counter in front of me. I shot a quick glance at the table. Anne was sitting on Rackham's lap, nuzzling his neck. Kidd had his head bent close to Ed, discussing something serious. Vane was passed out, facedown on the table, and it looked like Hornigold had left.

"Thanks," I mumbled to Kenway, nodding to the dishes he'd brought over. He nodded and turned away.

"Kenway," I blurted. When he turned back to me, eyebrows raised, I froze. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, but I knew I needed to say _something_. Something to make this less uncomfortable. A second passed. Then another. His eyebrows slowly crept higher as I said nothing. I shook my head quickly, grabbing onto the first coherent thought I could. An olive branch, of sorts.

"You can come here whenever you want," I said, focusing my eyes on the pistol strapped to his chest rather than on his face.

"You sure, lass?" His voice was strangely quiet, almost soft.

I nodded, forcing myself to look him in the eye. We stared at each other for several heartbeats. While his face remained otherwise impassive, I could see emotions flicker in his blue eyes. I couldn't tell what exactly they were. Relief. Gratitude, maybe. And another one that made no sense at all but felt a bit like concern. I had no idea what he was seeing in my own eyes aside from exhaustion. At least, I hoped that was all he saw—and not anything that might give away the erratic beating of my heart.

A sharp whistle broke through, and Kenway spun and strode to the table like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Kidd had Vane's arm over his shoulder, half carrying him towards the door. Ed, clapped Kenway on the shoulder and headed for the door as well. Anne and Rackham, still attached to each other, were also stumbling in that direction. Anne caught my eye and waved. The tavern was empty. I locked the door behind them and slowly walked to my room. I could clean in the morning.


	11. August 28, 1717

**August 28, 1717**

I was vaguely aware of muffled voices. Of a steady and painful pressure in my head.

I must be drowning.

I noticed the warm sand pressing into my cheek. I felt a hand on my chin, turning my face. I winced and tried to swat the hand away. That movement hurt more than my head.

I must be drunk.

Then I noticed the smell of gunpowder and fire.

I must be watching my house burn with my father inside.

"No, papa," I mumbled. "Not again."

I tried to turn away from it, to curl myself into a ball and block out the smell. But the voices clawed at me, persistently calling to me.

"C'mon, lass."

Opening my eyes hurt. Blinking hurt. Trying to focus on the face in front of me hurt.

"There ya are."

I kept blinking. That voice sounded relieved, didn't it? Why was he worried? I wasn't the one in the burning house.

His face was dark. His eyes were dark. And he was smiling at me.

"I know you," I said slowly, trying to remember. "I think."

He chuckled.

I tried to sit up and felt instantly nauseous. I tried to fall back into the sand again, but a strong arm caught me and helped me sit up. I looked at the man sitting with me. And I realized I was in Nassau, not Philadelphia. My father had been dead for a year. The house burning was not mine.

"Adéwalé," I said.

"Aye," his smiled widened. "I sent for the Captain. Can you stand?"

I started to nod but stopped at the pain the movement brought. I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass. I decided Adéwalé's arms were comfortable, and I leaned into him.

"Don't sleep, lass."

I opened my eyes and looked up at Adéwalé, acknowledging his request. And let him help me to my feet.

"What's burning?" I asked, looking around me slowly, trying to find the source of the smoke and the smell.

My eyes settled on the smoldering structure to my left. It was the Old Avery. The house burning _was_ mine. My tavern. My home.

"No," I whispered hoarsely and sagged into Adéwalé. I stared ahead, unseeing as Adéwalé guided me somewhere and helped me sit down. At some point, Kenway came by, his blue eyes dark with concern as he looked me over. At some point, Kidd arrived, his arm around my shoulders comforting as he quietly spoke to me. At some point, someone pushed a flask into my hand. At some point, I started actually hearing what was being said around me.

Gunpowder barrels below the tavern. But only half of them exploded. The fire was put out before it destroyed the structure, but much was lost. My room in the back, the office and my personal effects, were gone. I was lucky I wasn't asleep when it happened. I was lucky I was out on the patio, opposite from where the barrels had been placed.

"Who the bloody hell did this?"

Everyone's attention snapped to me. Kidd. Kenway. Adéwalé. Anne. Then Kidd and Kenway exchanged a sharp glance. It was Adéwalé who answered, his voice bitter.

"Templars."

I nodded, like this made perfect sense. And as I gave it a moment, it did make some sense.

"I'm sorry, Mags." Kidd's voice was full of sorrow. "They know you've been helping—"

"It's not your fault," I interrupted him quickly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I shook my head and smiled ruefully. "But I may need help with that message after all."

"You'd go back?" Kidd asked, arching one eyebrow.

Anne's eyes went wide. "Back to Philadelphia?"

"I'm sorry, Anne," I sighed. "I…I don't know what else I can do. I don't have the funds to rebuild the place."

"You can't leave." Kenway folded his arms across his chest. "Nassau is the capital of our republic," he continued. "It's our city, and the Old Avery is our tavern."

I rolled my eyes. "That's a nice sentiment, Kenway. But like I said, I don't have the funds to hire anyone."

Kenway smirked. "I haven't always been a pirate, you know."

I gaped at him, at the implication of that statement. Surely he wasn't really offering to rebuild the tavern.

Kidd started to nod slowly. "You can stay with me for now," he offered. "I've room on the _William_."

I looked from Kidd to Kenway and shook my head. "I can't ask that. Of either of you."

"The way I see it," Kidd said. "I owe you still for your help a few weeks back."

Kenway nodded in agreement. "The Jackdaw's repairs will take a few weeks anyway, right Adé?"

Adéwalé nodded, a ghost of smile on his lips. "Aye. We'll be in Nassau a while yet."

Anne grinned at me. "You can't really leave such fine gentlemen behind, can you?"

I looked at the four sitting in front of me and let out a small chuckle, shaking my head. "No, I suppose not."

We spent the next few hours digging through the debris, looking for anything salvageable and trying to clean what we could—though I admit I was mostly looking for personal mementos. One of the first things Kenway picked up was a small knife with a bone handle.

I watched Kenway turn it over in his hand a few times before walking over to where I was standing, my muscles tensing with each step closer.

"This yours?" He asked, stopping just a few feet away. I felt slightly dizzy as I watched him casually toss the knife in the air and catch it.

I shook my head.

"No?" He frowned. "It looks familiar."

My eyes followed the knife as he tossed it again. And I absently reached a hand up and rubbed the scar on my neck. I dropped my hand quickly when I realized he was watching me.

"You sure it's not yours?"

"I'm sure," I said quietly.

"Well, then," he said, tossing it once more. "Maybe I'll keep it." He tucked the knife into his boot.

As soon as the knife was out of sight, I exhaled slowly and felt my shoulders drop. Kenway looked over at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

"You know, Mags," he tilted his head slightly. "You never did tell me what happened to the woman Thomas attacked."

I blinked. And swallowed thickly. And when I answered, my voice was almost a whisper. "I hear she owns a tavern now."

At first, his eyes widened slightly, but the surprise quickly morphed into anger and, just as quickly, into nothing. I lifted my chin and held his gaze. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly snapped it shut, the lines around his eyes softening ever so slightly. With a single nod, he turned back to the debris. My head tipped to one side as I watched him walk away, and for the second time that day, I found myself grinning at him. I quickly shook my head and turned my attention back to the pile of rubble in front of me.

We didn't find much. The safebox behind the bar and the coins in it were intact. Most of the stock from behind the bar had been destroyed, but there were a few cases of rum and a barrel of mediocre ale sitting out front that survived. And I found a few odds and ends on the ground below the building. A small hand mirror that Ed had given me, covered in soot but amazingly unbroken. A book of my father's, only burnt around the edges.

It wasn't until Kidd walked me to his sloop and set me up in a small cabin that I started to cry. And it wasn't until I'd run out of tears that I started to really think about what happened.

The Templars knew I was helping Kidd, helping the Assassins. And they tried to burn down my home. As a warning. I knew then that it wouldn't have mattered if I'd been home the evening my father fell asleep at his desk. I may have been able to stop a fire started by neglected candles. But I doubted I would have been able to stop a fire started by Templars.

* * *

_**A/N**_: Shout out to my reviewers! Deception is Decepticon, HevaBeanXD, ObsessedxReading, Life Is Like An Hourglass, Illusions of Dreaming, Amy122, and . Y'all are awesome! And thanks to everyone else who's been following and favoriting. So much love from the AC fandom. It makes me want to write more. :)


	12. September 17, 1717 (pt i)

**September 17, 1717**

We threw a big party when the repairs were finally done and the Old Avery could open fully, even hiring some musicians for the night. Anne talked me into wearing a dress, a relatively simple thing in colors of rust and wine that hit just below my knees. She also managed to get me to brush out my hair and wear it down instead of up in my customary knot. She braided a few strands and chided me for not trying harder to look pretty.

"What's the point of this?" I scoffed, trying to bat her hands away as she trapped another strand of hair and began braiding.

"The point, love, to let the boys know how pretty you are."

I rolled my eyes and pulled away from her, but she grabbed me back and pushed a dark leather corset into my hands. I groaned but put it on and laced it up.

"See," she giggled. "That is _so_ much more fetching than what you usually wear."

"If Charles Vane grabs me even once tonight, I'm going to break his nose."

Anne shook her head and reached over, adjusting the corset for me, retightening the laces. I looked down at my chest. And frowned. The ensemble was far less revealing than anything Anne ever wore, but it still showed more, both leg and cleavage, than I would have liked. And it left nowhere to hide my pistol.

By the time we actually opened the doors to the tavern though, I had forgotten my outfit and lack of arms completely. Unintentionally, I stayed away from the table where my friends were, instead serving and chatting with other patrons. I happened to be walking near with an empty bottle when Rackham caught my arm and swept me into a dance.

"You scoundrel!" I shouted at him, but I laughed and let him spin me across the floor in front of the musicians. Anne took the bottle from my hand as we passed. And on one turn, from the corner of my eye, I caught Kenway watching us.

Rackham passed me off to Ed who, amazingly, was even more drunk and less steady than Rackham had been. He missed a step while turning and tripped, causing me to stumble. Into Kenway's chest. I laughed breathlessly and looked up at him, but my laughter died in my throat when I saw his frown.

"Sorry, Kenway," I muttered and quickly pushed away from him, returning to the bar to open a new crate of rum.

The night grew more raucous as it progressed. The singing got louder and the songs more bawdy. I managed to stay out of Rackham's hands the rest of the night, and, even though he tried, I stayed out of Vane's hands as well.

It was a stranger who caught me off guard. I had just shouted across the room to Anne to open yet another case of rum when a barrel-chested sailor I'd never seen before grabbed me by the waist and pulled me to his chest. I forced a laugh and tried to pull away, but his grip on my waist was tight. His breath stank of rum and fish. I couldn't even understand what he was saying as a wave of panic washed over me. My pistol was behind the bar. I could defend myself with the gun, but I was useless otherwise.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor and Kenway had a blade to the man's throat. Kidd skidded to my side to help me up.

"Y'alright, Mags?"

I nodded and saw Kenway back away from the man who had grabbed me. The man scowled at me and growled, "Wait 'til your lapdog's not here to protect ya, jilt."

I grabbed a pistol from Kidd's hip and leveled it at the man's chest, grateful I was able to hold my hand steady.

"This is my tavern, you manky worm," I matched his growl. "You get anywhere near here again, and I'll shoot you myself."

Half the tavern was paying attention now, including the musicians and the entire table of my friends. Someone helpfully shouted, "Don't mess with, Mags, mate!"

The man's eyes darted from Kenway, whose sword was still raised, to the table where Vane and Ed were now standing, hands on their weapons as well, and back to me and the pistol in my hand.

He held his hands up and took a step back. His friends, wisely, grabbed his arms and stumbled towards the door with him. A cheer went up, and the musicians launched into a new jig.

I turned and handed Kidd's pistol back to him.

"Guess you're alright," he chuckled, as he reholstered his weapon and turned back to the table.

I ignored him and turned to Kenway, who had sheathed his sword.

"Thank you," I said, touching his arm lightly. He nodded, and I brushed passed him. I served tables for a half hour, smiling mechanically and laughing on cue. But the moment I had an excuse to step outside, I took it, carrying a crate of empty bottles down the front steps. I added the crate to the growing stack underneath the tavern and leaned my back against them. The moment I stopped moving, my hands started trembling. I was only there a few minutes, but I'd obviously been gone long enough to attract attention. At least someone's attention. Something tugged at my chest when I realized it was Kenway.

He stepped around the stack of crates and stopped a few feet away.

I looked up at him and shook my head. "Bloody Anne making me wear this bloody outfit. There's nowhere to hide my bloody pistol. And _these_ are…" I looked down at my chest and let out a frustrated sigh. "Some days, I think Kidd has the right idea."

"You handled yourself well," he said slowly. "Once you had the gun in your hand."

I snorted. "Too little, too late. I still needed you to rescue me first. Bloody damsel in distress." I looked up at him then. "I guess that makes you my hero, Kenway."

It was his turn to snort. "I'm no hero. And call me Edward."

"No," I laughed softly. "I suppose you're not."

He didn't respond to that. I held my hands out in front of me and watched them tremble. It wasn't quite as pronounced as it had been when I first stepped outside, but it would still be noticeable if I tried to pour anyone a drink. With a sigh, I dropped them to my side again and looked at Kenway.

"I owe you a lot, you know, Edward. Not just tonight, but for everything. Helping me rebuild this place. I don't…I don't know what I would have done…" I trailed off, not wanting to voice the dark thoughts I'd had in those first days after the fire.

"You would have found a way," he said. "You're stronger than you think, Mags. And smarter than most of us. You would have found a way to do this without us. Without leaving."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to flatter me to make me feel better."

"I wasn't—" He started with scowl. Reflexively, I shrunk away. And he stopped, looking up at the sky and letting out a frustrated sigh. "You're still afraid of me."

I didn't answer him this time. I just watched him shake his head.

"You make no sense to me, Mags. You're mean as the devil with that pistol in your hand, but you panic whenever a man gets near you."

I opened my mouth to respond, to explain the difference, to explain that one had nothing to do with the other, but he took a step closer to me and cut off my thoughts.

"You kill, too, you know. You shot that guard and helped me dump that body without even blinking."

"I don't just kill people," I spat back at him. "I defend myself. I defend my…" I was going to say friends but instead just shook my head. "I don't take innocent lives."

"Bloody hell. You sound just like Kidd," he sneered at me. "I do what I have to do."

"No," I narrowed my eyes at him. "You do what you _want_ to do." I shook my head again. "And this has _nothing_ to do with me being afraid of you, which I'm _not_ anymore, or me panicking whenever a man...why the hell do you _care_ anyway?"

He didn't answer, just stood there staring down at me.

I don't know who moved first or how it happened, but one moment we were glaring at each other and the next we were crashing into each other. His hands knotted in my hair and mine clung to his shoulders like I would drown without him. And for a minute, everything around us faded to a dull gray, and we were the only bright spots in the world. When we finally broke apart, lips swollen and out of breath, he rested his forehead against mine. And tugged lightly on a strand of hair.

"You should wear your hair down more often," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "I know. You like redheads."


	13. September 17, 1717 (pt ii)

**September 17, 1717**

I was disappointed when Edward left with the others that night. And I was surprised at just how disappointed I was. We had returned to the tavern, and Edward proceeded to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He barely even looked my way.

At first, I thought he just didn't want to draw attention to anything. As I poured drinks and collected coin, I tried to remember a time I had ever seen Edward with a woman. I couldn't, but surely he had been. I'd never met a pirate who turned down a tumble. I decided he must just be more discreet than others. That was fine by me.

But when he left and didn't show up at my door later, I wondered if I had missed something or mistaken the incident all together. I stripped out of the stupid corset and dress, swapping them for a loose tunic. I lay on my bed for an hour or so, thinking about sleeping. Trying to not think about the way Edward smelled, the way he tasted, or the way his hands felt in my hair. It didn't work.

Frustrated, I gave up on sleeping and roughly pulled on a pair of knee-length breeches. I grabbed my holster and pistol but skipped shoes. Pulling my hair into a loose ponytail, I marched down to the beach with a bottle of rum.

I was lying in the sand on my back, pistol in one hand, half empty bottle of rum in the other, staring up at the full moon when I heard voices. Familiar voices.

"So you just left? You said nothing and just left?"

"What was I supposed to do, Kidd?"

"Try a little bloody honesty, mate."

"And get my balls shot off? No thanks."

"And you think it's going to go any better now?"

"It doesn't matter now. I'll leave for a couple of months. She'll be cross, but she'll get over it."

"Jaysus, Kenway. Mags deserves better than that, and you know it."

They were getting louder. And I realized belatedly that I had lain down right next to Kidd's spot.

"Course I know it. That's the whole point."

"I'll never underst—wait. Is that…?"

"Oi! Mate. You alright?"

I turned my head to the side to see Kidd and Edward walking towards me. I lifted my right hand, the one with the rum in it, and waved it as best I could.

"'llo, gents."

"Shit."

"Y'alright, Mags?"

"I'm fine, Kidd. Just fine." I grinned up at him. Then frowned. "You're blocking my moonlight, Kidd."

Kidd chuckled. "Sorry, Mags. I'll get outta your moonlight. I'm heading back anyway." He stepped out of my light and clapped a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Best of luck, mate."

When Kidd walked out of my line of vision, I turned my attention to Edward.

"So you're leaving?"

He sighed. "You heard that, did you?"

I closed my eyes. "It doesn't matter. I understand." I didn't. But I wasn't sure I wanted to.

I felt him sit next to me. I took a swig of my rum then offered it to him. He pulled it from my hand, and I could hear the liquid slosh in the bottle as he drank from it. He didn't pass it back. I opened my eyes and turned my head, holding my hand out.

He still didn't pass it back.

"Give me my fucking rum, Kenway."

"Back to Kenway, am I?"

"If you're intentionally sailing off to make me angry. Yes."

He didn't respond. I studied his profile for a moment then turned back to the moon.

"I wouldn't shoot your balls off," I said quietly.

He let out a huff of air. Disbelief maybe. Or half a laugh. And lay back onto the sand next to me.

Another few minutes of silence passed. He kept my rum.

"If you're not going to talk to me and you're not going to give me my rum, then why are you here?"

"No idea."

"Flatterer," I snorted.

"Mags, about earlier, I—"

"Don't."

"Don't?" He repeated.

"I get it. Kissing me was a mistake. Caught up in the moment. All of that." I waved my empty hand in the air dismissively. "I'm not the right kind of girl for you anyway. I'm not like Anne."

"Bloody hell, that's not it at all." He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at me. "It was only a mistake because I can't follow through. I can't give you what you deserve."

I blinked up at him. "And what, exactly, do you think I deserve that you can't give? Besides my rum."

"I have a wife."

"You have a—oh." I closed my eyes for a moment and let that sink in. Then, looking at him again, I said, "Now you definitely need to give me my bloody rum."

"We haven't spoken in years."

"_Rum_, Kenway."

He sighed and held the rum out to me before laying back again. I took a swig and rested the bottle on my stomach, letting my brain catch up to what he'd told me. And realized he thought I would have _expectations_.

After another stretch of silence, I said, "Part of why I came to Nassau was to avoid marriage."

"So you are like Anne." He might have been trying to tease me, but I wasn't in the mood.

I frowned. "Anne got bored with her husband. She wants adventure. I just didn't want to spend my time locked up on a plantation popping out babies. I want freedom."

"You don't want children?"

"That's…not what I meant. I just…if I have children, if I get married, I want it to be on my own terms. With someone I love. With someone who respects me. I do not want to have children out of an obligation to be a lady and carry on some fop's family name." I sat up abruptly. "You and Ed and Vane preach about freedom and liberty. About getting out from under the king's rule. I want the same thing. I just want it on a personal level, too. Marrying a rich plantation owner and…there's little enough freedom for women in this world as it is."

My rant compete, I took another swig from the bottle, wedged it into the san next to me, and announced, "I'm going home."

After a few fumbles, I managed to holster my pistol and tried to stand, but my hand slipped in the soft sand. Edward caught me before I fell face first, one hand on my hip, the other holding my arm.

"You're drunk," he said.

"You're a prick," I countered.

"I never said I wasn't."

I rolled my eyes and pulled away, flopping back onto the sand next to him. My thoughts were jumbled and rum-fuzzy. I tried to find a solid thought to grab on to, but all I could find was Edward. I turned my head in his direction, only to find him watching me intently, his blue eyes bright in the moonlight. I closed my eyes as my thoughts slowly came together. I knew what I wanted to say, what I wanted to do.

"I know what it's like to look around and realize everyone you care about is dead or gone," I sighed. "I walked away from a marriage and land and riches because I value respect and friendship and love more. When you decide if those are things I deserve, you let me know."

There was a long stretch of nothing but waves lapping at the shore. Sleep had nearly pulled me under completely when I felt fingers brushing hair off my cheek. And I heard Edward whisper, "You do, Mags."


	14. September 18, 1717

**September 18, 1717**

I woke just as the sun touched the horizon. I could feel the first rays stretching across my cheek, but when I opened my eyes, it still seemed dark. I could smell rum and salt and gunpowder. Disoriented, I started to move but stiffened when my memory came crashing back, and I realized not just where I was but who I was with. Edwards was still lying on his back in the sand, but while sleeping I had rolled towards him, half on top of him really. My face was buried in the crook of his neck, my hand splayed across his chest, my leg draped over him. One of Edward's hands was resting on my thigh, and the other was wrapped lightly around my waist.

Hoping for a discreet escape from an embarrassing situation, I started to slowly pull myself away. But Edward's arms tightened around me and he half-growled, "Don't you dare move."

I sighed. And wondered if he was awake enough to realize where we were and who he was with. I waited several heartbeats before speaking.

"Edward?"

"Mags?"

I let out a small sigh of relief that he _did_ know who I was. Then I said, "We're on the beach."

At that he opened his eyes and turned his head to look around. I shifted away from him slightly, but I couldn't bring myself to pull out of his arms completely.

"So we are." He turned back to me with a small smile. "How are you feeling? You drank quite a bit last night."

"I'm all right." I closed my eyes and took stock of how I was actually feeling. I had a faint headache but no signs of nausea, although that might hit me when I tried to stand. Mostly, I was tired, my brain still a little fuzzy around the edges. And with my eyes closed, the rest of my thoughts became less and less focused.

Just as I was drifting off again, I felt Edward's hand move from my thigh to my cheek. He brushed his lips against my forehead.

"We should go to the Jackdaw. Get some more rest."

My eyes snapped open, the reality of the situation snapping into sharp focus.

"Shit," I muttered and pulled away from him. "I need to go home."

Edward just sat up, watching me slowly stand and brush sand from my clothes. Just as I started to walk away, he stood, too.

"If you go home," he called after me. "You'll start working instead of resting. You need more sleep."

I looked over at him as he adjusted his weapons. And I wondered how I hadn't noticed he was still fully armed when I was curled up with him a moment before. There had to have been a pistol or a sword poking into me somewhere. I brushed that thought aside and quickly realized he was probably right. I couldn't remember cleaning up last night, and I was more likely to start cleaning when I saw the mess the Old Avery was probably in than I was to rest. No matter how tired I was. I wondered when he learned that about me. I bit my lip as I considered his invitation.

Seeing my indecision, he placed his hand on the small of my back. "C'mon, Mags," he said, guiding me toward the docks. "You've got a few hours at least until anyone expects you to be awake. My cabin will be quiet."

The implication of his words didn't hit me until we were halfway there. My sleep-deprived brain was slow to catch on. But once I was headed in that direction, I couldn't really turn back. I didn't want to anyway.

His cabin was not quite what I was expecting, although I'm not sure what I should have expected. A large table in the middle of the room was covered in tidy piles of parchments and maps, there was another table for armor and weapons and another with a replica of the Jackdaw. The furniture, the chests and tapestries in the room, were decorated in rich, warm tones. I never would have expected a ship's cabin to feel cozy, and, for some reason, I expected it even less of Edward's private quarters. I thought back to our conversations the night before, our interactions in the last few months. I knew he wasn't just a feared pirate or a ruthless killer. Maybe he was those things, but there was more to him. And as I looked around the cabin, a vague memory of a genuine, unguarded smile came to mind, and I realized that I really wanted to know what else there was.

I sat on the edge of his bed, rested my elbows on my knees, and watched him removing various guns and blades.

"Are you always this heavily armed?"

He glanced over at me with half a smile. "Aye."

I shook my head and removed my own pistol, tossing it to him. He turned it over in his hands before setting it on the table next to his own. "How is it," he asked as he pulled off his hooded cloak and draped it on a rack, "that a sweet lass like you is such a crack shot?"

"My father's friend taught me," I replied as I shifted on the bed, scooting to the far side and laying back to stare at the ceiling.

"Why'd you call her the Jackdaw?" I asked. I could hear his boots hit the floor with a soft thud. One, then the other.

"For a sly little bird I loved as a child back in Swansea."

"Dark, little bird?" I asked, closing my eyes and smiling to myself. "Likes to steal shiny things?"

"Same as a magpie," he chuckled. And I felt the bed shift next to me with his weight.

"Edward, do you remember asking me what you should call me?"

I heard him chuckle again. "Aye. I remember that very clearly."

"Cecily," I sighed. "My real name is Cecily."

"Cecily." He said it slowly, like he was testing the weight of, and my heart stuttered at the sound. I felt the bed shift again.

I opened my eyes to find Edward's hovering just above me. He smiled, lips curving into something in between his usual smirk and something entirely new, and traced a callused finger along my jawline from my ear to my chin. I returned his smile just before he pressed his lips to mine, slow and languid and with a completely different kind of fire than the night before.

The next time I woke, Edward and I were properly tangled, with each other and with the bedding. He was already awake and playing idly with a strand of my hair, twisting it around his finger. I shifted limbs and blankets so that I was next to him, rather than underneath or on top of.

"I could get used to this," he said, his voice low. I grinned and pressed my face against his shoulder. His hand returned to my hair.

"Edward?"

"Cecily?"

"Will you go back to England? After you find this Observatory, will you go back to your wife?"

I could feel him shift, trying to look at me, but I kept my face to his shoulder. "Aye," he said eventually.

"Good," I sighed.

"Good?" He sounded confused. I scooted up, resting my chin on his shoulder and looking up at him.

"Don't misunderstand," I smiled, running my fingers lightly across his chest. "I could get used to this, too. I could fall for you. So easily." I kissed his shoulder before adding, "But I don't believe in fairy stories. And I respect that you try to keep your promises, that you try to fix your mistakes."

"Aye," he said slowly, like he was thinking about something other than his wife.


	15. January 28, 1718

**January 28, 1718**

For a month, Nassau saw a string of late storms. None as violent as proper hurricanes, but they were strong enough that Edward was reluctant to leave the harbor in them. Or so he said.

During that month, he was the Old Avery's most loyal customer. He was there almost every night. And if he wasn't the last to leave, he'd come back after I'd closed and tap on my window. That was when I learned just how much time he spent climbing around on rooftops.

Though our behavior towards each other in public changed little, I was still surprised that no one had figured out we were lovers. It wasn't an intentionally kept secret. It wasn't really a secret at all, actually. Just not common knowledge. Adé knew. As well as a handful of Edward's crew who had seen me around the Jackdaw enough to figure it out. And Kidd knew. I didn't tell him, so he either figured it out or Edward told him. Anne just knew I was sleeping with _someone_, and I was having too much fun watching her try to figure out who to tell her.

Eventually, the storms died down. And Edward left. I always knew he would. The next prize, the next treasure, the next challenge would always be calling to him. And eventually, England and his estranged wife would call to him as well. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into that night on the Jackdaw.

Of course, that didn't make me miss him any less. But even three months later, sitting on the railing of the Old Avery's patio, I didn't regret my time with him.

And then I saw the Jackdaw limping into the harbor.

I sat in silence and watched her, my tea going cold next to me. A small part of me was shouting to run to the docks, to greet the Jackdaw, to see Edward. But the rest of me knew I had no right behaving like a lovesick little girl. So I ignored that voice, instead dumping my cold tea and returning to the Old Avery to clean things that were already clean and straighten things that were already in order. As the day progressed with no sign of Edward, I knew I had made the right decision.

Until I was closing up for the night.

I was collecting empty mugs and tankards when I heard the door creak open. I glanced up, ready to send away whoever was stumbling in so late, when I realized it was Edward.

"Were you going to come and see me?"

Surprised by both the question and the accusatory tone, I stared at him for a moment. Then, slowly, I admitted, "I…wasn't sure you would want me there."

His lips twitched down slightly, but he nodded. And I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the fresh cut on his cheek. His left arm looked thick with bandages underneath his coat. And his face—he looked haunted. Something was very, very wrong.

I set down the mugs on the nearest table and walked slowly towards him.

"Edward, what happened?"

He looked down at me with his brows drawn together and a deep frown.

"I'm sorry, Mags." He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. "I have...Thatch…"

All the air left my lungs, and I stumbled away from him.

His eyes snapped open, wide. "No, Mags. No, _no_." He reached for me, grabbing my shoulders. "He's not…he's not dead."

I blinked at him.

"He's fine. I mean, as fine as Thatch ever is." He dropped his hands from my shoulders and turned away. "He's just not coming back."

I frowned, completely confused. "What do you mean?"

"He went to Ocracoke," he sighed, looking back at me. "He says he's done being a pirate. He's…_retiring_. I'm sorry, Mags. He won't…he won't be coming back to Nassau."

"Oh," I breathed. That was significantly better news that what I was expecting.

"I thought you would be upset." I realized then that at least part of Edward's distress came from having to deliver this news to me. He was worried about how I would take it.

I gave him a small smile. "I'll miss the old goat, sure," I explained. "But I'm not surprised he's doing this."

"You're not?" His frown faded into a look of confusion.

I shook my head. "You forget I once left everything behind to start over. I recognized the look in his eye months ago. I could tell he was getting tired of it all, tired of the way things are here. So, no, I'm not surprised."

Edward stared at me for a moment then shook his head. "It's hard to believe you're only 19, Mags. Sometimes you speak like you've lived decades more than you have."

I let out a small laugh and shook my head. Then, gesturing to his arm, I asked, "What happened?"

He held his left arm out awkwardly and glanced down at it. "Crocodile."

I raised my eyebrows. "And your cheek?"

"I've no idea," he shrugged.

I rolled my eyes and collected the mugs from the table, walking them back behind the bar.

"And did you find what you were looking for?" I called over my shoulder.

"Aye," he said. "But I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay," I said slowly, looking over at him, eyebrows raised. "What _do_ you want to talk about?"

He shook his head and, for the first time that night, smiled. "C'mere, lass. I have two things for you."

I hesitated before heading back to where he was standing. The closer I got, the wider his smile got. When I got close enough, he reached out with his right hand and grabbed my arm—just a little rougher than I would have liked. My eyes darted from his hand back to his face. He was smirking now and his eyes were dancing mischievously, but the grip he had on me was uncomfortable.

"Edward—"

"Don't worry, Mags. Just…try to pull your arm back."

I hesitated, confused by the combination of the grip on my arm and his reassuring tone. But I complied, trying to tug my arm away. Unsuccessfully.

"Good," he said. "Now, see how when you pull, you're pulling my whole hand with you."

I frowned and tugged again, watching his hand as I did.

"Now," he said. "Try twisting your arm away instead of pulling."

I rolled my eyes, but did as I was told. Nothing new happened. "What's the point of this?

"Just trust me, lass" he chuckled. "Try twisting the other way. Against my thumb."

This time when I did, I was able to pull me arm free. I blinked up at him. And grinned.

"The thumb alone is weaker than the other four fingers together," he explained with a broad smile. "My Jackdaw is in need of repairs. And while I'm in Nassau, I'm going to teach you to defend yourself better."

I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of my chest at that announcement. "I see," I said after I composed myself. "And was that one of the things you had for me?"

"Aye," he nodded. And his smile softened as he reached for my arm again, grabbing it gently this time and turning it so that my palm was facing up. "And this." He dropped something small and cold in my hand. Before I could look though, he curled my fingers over it and covered my hand with his. I looked at the bruises across his knuckles and then shifted my gaze to meet his. His blue eyes were warm, all traces of his earlier anxiety and concern gone.

A heartbeat later, he quickly pulled his hand away and straightened.

"So tell, me not-wench," he said with a smirk. "Did you miss me?"

I snorted. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a prick, Captain Kenway?"

"Aye," he chuckled. "I believe you have. More than once, in fact."

I bit back a grin and glanced down at my hand, still closed around whatever he'd given me. Just as I was about to open my hand to look, he interrupted.

"You didn't answer my question," he said pointedly.

I hesitated then shook my head. "I did," I sighed, looking up to meet his eye. "Devil curse me, I did."

And then, in a flash, he grabbed me by the waist and threw me over his shoulder.

I let out an involuntary squeak then shouted, "Put me down, you beast!" I pummeled his back with my fists, a thin gold chain swinging from one, but he just chuckled.

"Ah, I missed you, Mags," he said, striding towards my bedroom. "And I believe you owe me a proper homecoming."

* * *

**A/N:** _Penultimate:_ adj. Last but one in a series of things; second last.

I've never had so many active readers/reviewers on a story before, and I thought I should warn y'all that we're nearing the end. One more chapter after this and a short epilogue. Thanks, everyone, for sticking with me (and Mags) for this long! :)


	16. July 2, 1718

**July 2, 1718**

_Of course. You will always be welcome here. You know how to find me._

_Rene_

I sighed and refolded the letter, tucking it back into my pocket. Kidd had left for the Yucatán in February and, as promised, took a letter with him. Rene's response arrived in April. I remembered the night I told Edward about Rene, the night he convinced me to climb the rigging of the Jackdaw with him. We sat in the crow's nest most of the night, talking about the Assassins, about their Creed and their cause. He knew I'd sent a letter with Kidd, but he'd been gone when Rene's response came. I hadn't told him about it, and he'd never asked. I just kept it tucked away in my pocket, comforted by the knowledge that I had somewhere to go when Edward decided to return to England.

I watched Edward, Vane, and Rackham from the corner of my eye. Whatever they were discussing, it was serious. And I was sure it was dangerous. Possibly even foolish, knowing Vane and Rackham.

I knew about the new Governor coming to town, about the pardons, about Hornigold. I wanted to tell someone that I had known Hornigold was dishonest all along, but I bit my tongue. Edward's anger at his former friend was not something I wanted directed at me.

I turned my attention back to the ledger in front of me and pretended to review the numbers.

There wasn't much to look at there. Business had been steady, though still slower than the year before. Everything in Nassau seemed slower than the year before. It was like the island knew its end was coming and didn't want to greet it just yet.

Nassau mirrored my feelings in that way. Each day I spent with Edward was another day closer to him leaving. And even though he hadn't mentioned leaving or his wife or England in months, I had a feeling that our time was swiftly running out. Each time he left Nassau and returned safely, that feeling grew. And whatever he and Vane and Rackham were up to today was making it even worse.

I was shaken from my thoughts by Rackham falling backwards from the bench with a loud thud. I groaned. I did not want a passed out Jack Rackham in my tavern all day. Not again. Fortunately, Vane kicked him, yanked him up by the arm, and dragged him out. And Edward crossed the room and leaned his elbows on the bar across from me.

He sighed heavily before saying, "We need to leave Nassau."

"I had a feeling." I shut the ledger. "When will you go?"

"Tonight." He rubbed a thumb at a speck of something on his leather bracer, not looking up.

"That soon?" It usually took at least a couple of days to get the Jackdaw ready.

"Aye," he said slowly. "But, Mags…I want you to come with me."

I snorted. "What the devil for?"

He reached his hand across the bar and wrapped it around mine. My stomach dropped at the gesture. Edward was affectionate in bed, in private—but never in public. My eyes darted from our joined hands to his face, searching for some clue as to what he was thinking.

"I won't be coming back to Nassau." He squeezed my hand. "And I don't want to leave you here."

"You won't—I don't think—" I shook my head, unable to articulate a thought. I was completely unprepared for that kind of declaration from him.

"You've talked about coming to Great Inagua with me before. You can live in a proper house, not the back room of a tavern."

"For a visit," I whispered then added more firmly, "I talked about _visiting_ you there. Not _living_ there."

He shook his head sharply. "Nassau's not safe for you anymore. Everyone's leaving. Even Anne."

I pulled my hand from his. "I've spent plenty of time here alone, Edward. I'll be fine." I took a step away from him, even though the bar was between us. "I can't just _go_ with you."

He straightened and narrowed his eyes at me. "And how long do you think it will be before Rogers figures out who you are? Who you know? How long 'til they prove you've no legal claim to this grotty piss-hole? How long 'til they come after you like they did your father? Like they did last year?"

I stared at him. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. He was serious. He really wanted me to leave. He really wanted me to come with him.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, walking around the bar to the side where I was still gaping at him.

"Mags. _Cecily_." He reached out and framed my face with his hands. "I _can't_ leave you here."

I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?" He repeated.

I looked up at him and nodded again. "How are we getting out? The harbor's blockaded."

He grinned and kissed the top of my head. "Rackham's ship."

I snorted. "Is there a backup plan?"

He chuckled and proceeded to tell me the plan to pile Rackhams' ship with gunpowder and pine pitch and send it straight for the blockade. Rackham could be passed out drunk the whole time and not get in the way. I only saw one problem.

"They're not just going to let me climb onto the Jackdaw," I pointed out. "Guards will be crawling all over the docks once you've stolen the gunpowder and pine pitch."

"That's why we need a distraction," he smirked. "We'll plant a few barrels of powder in the tavern. Once Vane and I get everything set up, I'll come and get you. We blow the tavern, the guards come running, and you and I have a clear shot to the Jackdaw."

"You want me to blow up my tavern?" I arched my eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. "You won't need it anymore, will you?"

"Right," I sighed, shaking my head. "Right. It's a grotty piss-hole anyway." I grinned up at him. "I guess I should…go pack?"

"Aye," he returned my grin. "And I have some lobsters to steal from." He pulled me in for a kiss before taking off at a jog.

It didn't take long to pack the things I wanted. I had little of worth anyway. Aside from clothes, I only hand a handful of sentimental trinkets. The only book of my father's to survive the fire the year before. The hand mirror Ed had given me. A journal I'd taken to writing in. The last thing I did was take the small safebox from behind the bar and dumped my small pile of jewelry into it. It wasn't much, just a small collection of earrings and other baubles I'd collected since the fire.

I sat at my desk for the last time and wrote two letters, sending them off with a courier before settling on the patio to wait for Edward. The barrels of gunpowder were already in place. And I only had to turn away a handful of people while I waited, claiming to have run out of rum. No one argued or complained. It was almost like they knew to stay away.

I turned my face towards the setting sun and closed my eyes. Nassau was a beautiful place if you could look past the crime and corruption and debauchery and disease. I had been there for less than two years, but it felt like a lifetime.

I heard a pair of guards grumbling and clambering up the steps. I opened my eyes to confirm that they were headed my way. And to find another group of four standing at the base of the stairs.

That wasn't part of the plan. I felt a flash of panic, and, as I listened to the guards' approach, my mind rattled through options and scenarios. I only saw one that would keep Edward safe. Only one that would leave him with his escape from Nassau.

I reached a hand up to the round pendant at my throat and took a deep breath. Edward had told me it was a Mayan coin of some sort. For luck. If it was, I needed it now. And I hoped he could forgive me for what I was about to do.

It looked like our time together was at an end after all.

"Can I help you gents?" I asked with a smile, turning my attention to the guards who had just reached the top of the steps.

"Are you the one they call Mags?" The tall guard in front asked.

"I am," I said steadily. "And what do they call you?"

"Freder—" He stopped when his partner elbowed him in the side. "It's not important."

"I see," I nodded. And waited for them to explain their business. I saw Edward coming up the path out of the corner of my eye. I silently begged him to see the guards and turn away.

"We need to search your tavern, madam. On the Governor's orders."

"May I ask why?" I smiled again.

"No," the shorter guard said gruffly and stepped forward, pushing me in the direction of the tavern door. I let myself be pushed. I had no intention of trying to fight the guards. But I did pause at the door and turn back to meet Edward's gaze. He had stopped on the path, confused by the guards' presence. But when I looked at him and shook my head, he started running. I groaned inwardly. Now was not the time for him to be either stubborn or heroic. I just hoped he wouldn't be fast enough.

The moment I stepped through the doorway of the tavern, I spun towards the shorter guard and, with all the strength I could muster, shoved him to the floor. Then, pulling my pistol from my hip, I aimed at him.

"Stay back, Freddy," I snapped at the tall guard, who was still stunned by my movements.

Time seemed to slow down as I backed across the room towards the bar. Everything faded away to a dull gray, leaving only the guards, the gunpowder, and my own thundering heartbeat. I looked from the tall guard, whose hands were raised above his head, to his wide-eyed partner on the ground. And then I heard Edward shouting my name, my real name, in the distance.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I whispered. And turned the pistol to the barrels of gunpowder.


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Jaysus, Kenway." Kidd shook his head as he took in the sight of his friend, surrounded by empty bottles and sprawled on his back on a table with a woman of questionable reputation draped over him. "What would Mags say, mate?"

"Mags is dead, _mate._" Kenway grumbled as he pushed the woman's leg off his waist and sat up.

Kidd recognized the anger, the pain in his friend's voice. He was itching for a fight, but Kidd wasn't going to indulge him anymore than he'd already indulged himself. He didn't rise to the bait. Instead he held out a folded of piece parchment.

"You don't deserve a woman like her," Kidd said steadily.

Kenway snorted and eyed the parchment warily.

"She gave everything up for you," Kidd pressed, still holding the parchment. Kenway lifted his gaze to Kidd's, and Kidd saw all he needed to see. He sighed and tossed the parchment on the table next to Kenway. "Don't let her down."

Kenway scowled at Kidd's back, watching him saunter away and waiting until he was out of sight before picking up the parchment and unfolding it. He only had to look at his name written in familiar looping script at the top to realize what it was. He pushed back against the sudden pressure in his chest, standing quickly and striding into the house to read the letter in private.

_Dear Edward,_

_If you are reading this and I am not by your side, that means I did not make it out of Nassau with you. I cannot explain why I think I need to write this letter. I suppose I am worried that the plan will not work the way it is intended._

_I have so many things I want to say to you, but now that I am sitting here with the quill in my hand, all I can think of is that I love you. I know I have never said it, but I do. You are a good man, and once you learn to look past yourself, I believe you will do good things. Maybe even great things. I have such faith in you, Edward James Kenway. This is why I must do what I can to get you safely back to your home. No matter what happens, please don't look for me._

_I have always known our time together was limited—don't scowl so, Edward. You know I am right. I just hate that this is the way I have to say goodbye. If I have indeed left you behind, I am truly sorry. I can only hope that I was able to give you a small portion of what you have given me these past months. Live your life well, Edward. _

_Yours,_

_Cecily Magpie Barrowman_

Edward stared at the letter for a long moment before dropping it onto his desk and slamming his fist next to it. She knew. She _knew_ something would go wrong. Standing in the roadway and watching the Old Avery erupt in flames, all Kenway could do was curse himself for not being fast enough, curse Rackham and Vane for not being able to set up that fire ship without him, curse God for taking her away from him. But as he stared at the letter, he realized Kidd was right. She knew something was going to go wrong, and she'd willingly sacrificed herself. For him.

He stood abruptly and scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn't deserve it.

"Foolish girl," he muttered to himself. He looked back at the letter, his eyes lingering just about dead center on the page. A little detail he'd almost overlooked.

_No matter what happens, please don't look for me._

"Bloody hell, Cecily. What did you do?"

He turned and marched towards the door, intent on finding Kidd and figuring out what he knew. But even as he reached the steps of the patio and bellowed Kidd's name, he knew he couldn't ask. One of the few things Mags had asked him for all those months ago was respect. Respect and friendship and love. And if she was asking him to not look for her, he knew he couldn't. Even if she was alive somehow, even if she had survived that explosion, he had to respect her wishes. If he didn't and he found her, she'd probably shoot him.

_.ende._

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Oh, wow. I can't believe this is over. I have never had this much feedback and this many followers on anything before. I just wanted to say thanks. Y'all have been awesome. Seriously. I've never had so much fun writing anything before, and that's all due to you.

Aaand, as far as Mags is concerned, I've started writing another story. It's not _quite_ a sequel, but it's related. It absolutely connects to this story, but it's all OCs-and I'm not sure how many of you are going to be interested in that. So here's the deal: once I get a decent chunk written, I'll post the first chapter/prologue bit here. That way, anyone who's following and wants to jump over to the new story will know when it's up and what it's called. And if you don't, you can ignore the update.

Safety and peace, my friends.


	18. Next Story: Sneak Peek!

_**A/N:**_ As promised, a little peek at my next AC fic.

"When We're Not Looking" takes place in the same version of the world as "A Sly Little Bird," but it's not a direct sequel. It starts about 200 years later in a Prohibition-era US. And while it doesn't pick up where I left off here, Mags's fate will be explained over the course of the new story.

And for those of you who aren't excited about OCs you can't see, I've borrowed an idea from a fellow writer and started a tumblr to post inspiration pictures. All the important characters will have faces there (katjalaroux dot tumblr).

This is just a snippet of the first chapter. Check my profile for the full story.

* * *

**July 23, 1924**

When they stepped off the street car at Broadway and 5th, they headed south towards the diner on Market Street.

"So, the plan…" Dutch started. Even though the plan was almost always the same, it had become habit to repeat it all out loud just before splitting up.

"You two meet our new friends, take their money, and give them the directions to the boat and the booze," Kate said, dropping her voice to sound more like the boy she was dressed as.

"And you," Peter nodded at her, "stay on the corner and keep an eye out for coppers."

"And," Dutch smirked at her, "stay away from the bell bottoms and flyboys."

Kate rolled her eyes. "You know I don't flirt on the job."

"_And_," Peter interrupted, "if all goes well…"

"Back to the streetcar," Kate recited.

"If anything goes wrong…" Dutch started.

"Split up and regroup at the theater," Peter answered. When no one else spoke, he added with a grin, "And if anyone is gonna get distracted by a pretty face, it's gonna be you, Dutch. It's always you."

Dutch sniffed, "Well, we can't all carry a torch for Sally Macauley."

Kate swallowed back a laugh at seeing the glare Peter shot at Dutch. Maybe it was time to stop teasing him about the girl. She shook her head.

Just before they reached the corner of 5th and Market, they split up. Kate nodded solemnly to Peter and Dutch and whispered, "Be careful." Both men nodded in return before jogging across the street. She settled into her spot under the streetlamp kitty-corner to the diner where Dutch and Peter were meeting their new customers and pulled the cigarette from behind her ear. She didn't actually smoke, but she always borrowed one from Dutch and lit it to give her something to do while keeping watch on the street corner.

Kate watched Peter and Dutch disappear into the diner. She sighed and leaned up against the lamppost, crossing one foot over the other and surveying the intersection. She spotted the two men they were meeting not two minutes later. Average height, dark suits, bowler hats. Compared to those two, Peter and Dutch were an intimidating pair. Dutch was easily six feet tall and built like a boxer. Peter, despite his baby face, was stocky and solid. She smiled to herself. Her boys would be just fine.

She continued scanning the intersection, making note of a couple of cars parked along the street, including a 4-door Ford like the one Peter had been talking about buying just the other day. There was also a small group of sailors ambling towards the harbor. Nothing out of the ordinary. She flicked some ash from her cigarette. And stiffened when she noticed another figure across the street from her. She hadn't seen him there when she first settled into her spot. She cocked her head to one side and watched him for a minute. Like her, he seemed to be waiting for something, leaning against the wall. It wouldn't be all that unusual in this part of town, but he was wearing a strange coat with a hood. Not exactly the height of fashion these days.

Kate glanced back at the diner, looking for signs of her friends wrapping up their conversation. Seeing nothing, she turned back to the strange man only to find him watching her. She couldn't see his face under the hood, but she could _feel_ him looking at her. She frowned and stubbed out her cigarette on the bottom of her boot, stepping back from the lamppost and into the shadow of the building. He didn't budge.

"Come on, boys," she muttered under her breath. "I got a creep out here with me."


End file.
